Something to Sing About
by Josephine de Chagny
Summary: Life after the fire at the Opera Populaire is wonderful for Christine and Raoul- at first. Within months, their freshly wedded bliss has worn off and soon they are no longer even speaking to each other. Christine's mind begins to wander back to her angel of music and the life she could have had with him.
1. Chapter 1

Life after the fire at the opera house proved to be far different for Christine, who was married almost immediately after to the Viscomte de Chagny. They had a modest house and lived comfortably just at the edge of his family, hiding themselves just beyond the backbiting and general displeasure that Raoul's siblings showed toward their brother now that he had married a chorus girl.

Sure she was pretty, sure she could sing, but that wasn't enough for them. She didn't come from a high enough status. She was not of their kind.

So though Raoul loved her deeply and though she loved him back, Christine found she had very little to do aside from sitting around looking pretty and waiting for her husband to come back from whatever affairs he needed to take care of during his days. She lived for the nights when they'd travel back into Paris to take in a show. In the earliest days of their marriage that was how they spent every night that they did not spend tangled up in each other in bed.

But as the weeks turned into months and as Christine continued to not fall pregnant with the viscomte's child, he took decidedly less interest in keeping her happy. Christine began to wonder after only four months of marriage if her husband was being unfaithful.

By the time that six months had passed since their wedding, Raoul and Christine no longer shared the same bed. Some nights, this struck her harder than others. Some nights she would wait up all night for Raoul to come home, and many nights he wouldn't.

The mornings after these long nights, he always stumbled through the door, his shirt untucked, his hair a mess, an entire night's worth of drink on his breath. These were the only times he ever wanted to be close to Christine anymore, and these were the times that she would lock herself in her bedroom and dream of a time when she would've had some reprieve.

It wasn't until the morning that he came home so angry drunk that he'd managed to grab her before she could hide herself away that she actually allowed herself to remember the Phantom of the opera, the deformed man who had been her angel of music and her inspiration.

While Raoul touched her and kissed her and messed up her hair and her clothes, Christine thought back to a time when she had been inspired to sing, when she had been _compelled_ to sing. When the urge was so strong and so deep within her that it physically pained her if she wouldn't sing.

The awful smell of Raoul's breath as he panted against her cheek brought her back to the harsh reality. She was in a marriage that made her unhappy. Clearly her husband wasn't happy, though for a few brief moments he seemed quite content as his body tensed over her before he collapsed, unconscious, across his wife. His sleeping face looked so innocent. Christine gently ran her hand through his hair, smoothing it out and pulling it away from his face.

For the first time in months, he looked like the young man she had married. Drunken and passed out, his face held the innocence that it no longer held when he was sober and awake. Christine wished desperately that there was something she could do to garner his favor again, to make him love her the way she still loved him, despite the drunk he had become. She knew that if she could just become pregnant, everything would be better.

_Perhaps if I just had a little inspiration,_ she thought, _perhaps if I could just find my angel… _As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she shook her head. Her angel would want nothing to do with her. After all, it was he who sent her away with Raoul, he who demanded that she love him in order to save Raoul's life. To him, she was certain that love meant nothing. How could he just toy with her heart like that? She had prepared herself to remain underground with him forever that Raoul could walk away with his life.

And he repaid her love by sending her away. Perhaps that was what he thought she wanted, but perhaps her angel had known. Perhaps he had sent her away as punishment for being unable to accept how he looked. Perhaps…

Christine eventually fell asleep, her husband's body draped across her like a blanket.

When she woke again, she was alone.

* * *

Far beneath the busy streets of Paris, a man who looked more like a corpse shuffled slowly through the lower levels of the catacombs. His clothing had once been the height of fashion and finery but now hung in tatters on the man's slight form. His pants and suit jacket were black and filled with holes; his shirt had once been white but now was a murky gray with dark brown stains all down the front.

The man's features were skeletal; not an ounce of fat could be found on his body. The clothes that had once fit him perfectly now hung loose on the man's gaunt frame. Even the porcelain mask that rested on his cheek seemed too big for him now. Still, the rest of his clothing could fall away but he would never remove the mask.

Erik had forgotten what it felt like to not wear the mask. After the fire had spread through his home and through his opera house, he had fled into the catacombs, where he had been met by a group of men, angry with him for endangering so many lives and burning down their livelihood. The men took turns inflicting pain on the pitiful creature, but none thought to remove his mask.

Once they had tired of kicking and striking the man-turned-phantom, Erik had crawled away, barely managing to pull himself along with his arms. The catacombs beneath the city became his new home and his sanctuary, even if he had to fight, lie, and steal just to survive.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a wretched excuse for a life. Day in, day out Erik was in constant darkness, broken only by the occasional dim lantern hanging in the corridors so deep below the city. He tended to stay away from where there were lanterns. The light usually signified that there were other people nearby, and if Erik had learned even one thing while hiding away in the catacombs, it was that people weren't going to take pity on him.

Sometimes when he allowed himself to sleep, his mind would wander back to when he'd very nearly had everything he wanted. In his dreams, he hadn't let Christine go. Sure, he'd kept his word, he'd let the viscomte go free in exchange for the girl's love, but the girl was doomed to remain underground with him.

In his dreams the girl grew so sad that she could not bear her life anymore. In his dreams, Christine fled from him, only to get lost in the catacombs and die of starvation.

Coincidentally, it was a death that Erik was slowly approaching himself. It was a hard life indeed, having to live off of the crumbs of those who chose to spend their existence in the areas closest to where he typically stayed. Food was becoming scarcer and scarcer at the depth he liked to stay, his 'neighbors' less and less welcoming when Erik would cross into their space searching for breadcrumbs or tiny scraps of meat.

He knew that he would have to resort to something drastic if he didn't want to die.

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny didn't even acknowledge what he had done while in a drunken stupor, nor did his wife particularly expect him to. She knew how he would react, if he reacted at all. He'd merely drink one less drink before coming home the next time. Perhaps he would buy her some frivolous trinket like a ring or a music box. There would be no apologies, no promises of making things better. Still Christine wished she knew what she was doing wrong.

She only wanted to please her husband. She wanted him to come home sober once in a while, to take her out on the town again. There was no way to tell him that, though. He was never in a favorable mood anymore and he wouldn't listen to a word she tried to tell him unless it was something about their good old days.

She sighed wistfully as she thought of their youth. They'd had such promise then, in spite of their they'd married. They had won their chance at normal lives, or so they would've believed. But Christine had a hard time believing that either of them could consider their lives normal.

While Raoul spent his day doing whatever it was he was doing- he never did tell his wife, though she suspected that he was off with another performer, someone who actually still had a job- Christine decided that she would try to start singing again. It had been so long since she'd last tried to summon her voice, she wasn't sure she still could.

But finally, seven months after her wedding, seven months after her angel of music had set her free, she raised her voice in song. At first she sang just a little lullaby she remembered from her childhood. At first, her voice barely filled the room. Her heart just wasn't in it.

For a brief moment, she wondered if the angel of music had truly gone from her life. She thought, in horror, that she might never be able to sing as she once had again. But she pushed the thought from her mind as quickly as it had barged in, and she tried to think of a song more inspiring than a nostalgic lullaby. A strange melody, unfamiliar at first, drifted through her mind. A chill ran down her spine as she finally recognized the music. It had been in the Phantom's opera. It was their duet, the bittersweet seduction they had shared before an audience.

Christine remembered that night with both fear and longing. Closing her eyes tight, she began to sing with the tune in her head. She was shocked and pleased when her angel's voice was there, still as beautiful as she remembered it, in her mind. Could it really be a memory? She had been certain that her angel had been but a mere man. She didn't want to remember what he hid behind the mask he wore, didn't want to remember the murders.

She was nearly finished with the song, nearly to where her fear had caused her to abruptly end the song, when she felt her voice swell within her. The final few notes of the song held all of the emotion she had allowed to build up over six months. She fell to her knees as the song ended, holding her hand to her throat in utter shock. She felt her heart soar in a way it hadn't since it had that first time she'd sung in the place of Carlotta.

* * *

Raoul swallowed a shot of some foul-smelling liquor the bar had imported specifically for him. He couldn't pronounce the name, but he'd grown quite fond of it over his honeymoon, though to be fair he hadn't spent much time anywhere but in bed, tangled in the sheets with Christine.

He didn't know what had changed. He didn't know what he'd done wrong, but it was growing ever more apparent that their marriage was cursed. Perhaps he should have left her with that loathsome beast. He ordered one more drink, slamming it down as quickly as he had the four he had already consumed before paying his tab and leaving.

He stumbled out into the twilight, just as the street lamps were being lit on the cheerful little street on which his favorite bar took up residence. It was a short walk back to the main road, where he was able to flag down a carriage to take him the home. He was so tired of the life he lived with his wife.

By the time he paid the driver and stumbled up the front stairs to his and Christine's home, the sky was dark, and he could almost see Christine scurrying from room to room to light the lamps. For a moment, Raoul lingered at the front door, listening intently. It almost sounded like Christine was singing!

His heart rose at the idea. He hadn't heard her sing in months, not since they had been newly married and her heart had still been light. Now she was a sullen shell of what she had been, though he couldn't say much better for his own state.

Her singing stopped abruptly as the viscomte opened the door to announce that he was home, but the memory of her sweet voice lingered in his mind the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

The viscomte took supper with his wife for the first time in more a month, much to Christine's surprise. The two of them spent most of the meal in silence, though Raoul found that the silence didn't necessarily mean they weren't having a meaningful conversation. The way she avoided his eye, the way she closed herself whenever she noticed his gaze lingering on her. He could see that there was something she wanted to say, but even with all the liquor running through his blood he had the tact to allow her to believe he didn't notice.

"Your dress is quite lovely, is it new?" he asked, the silence finally growing unbearable for him. Christine glanced down at what she wore, as though she had forgotten what she had dressed herself in that morning.

"Oh, thank you," she said after a long pause, "Yes, your sister sent it for me. Apparently this style is the height of fashion in England right now."

"I see," was Raoul's reply. He did love dark green on her, it was so striking against her pale skin, and the dress she wore was such a deep green that he would've assumed she had a date that night if she wasn't his wife. "Are you going somewhere this evening?"

Christine froze, glancing up at him from her soup.

"Where would I be going?" she asked with a forced, nervous laugh. She hadn't given any thought to what she was wearing to supper. Truthfully, she'd felt the color was more glamorous on her than the dresses she'd been wearing, and she found herself feeling nostalgic for the glamorous things she'd worn on stage at the opera. She didn't dare tell Raoul that, however. She knew that he would take it wrong, that he would take it as evidence that she really had chosen the Phantom over him deep below the city that fateful night.

Raoul looked her over skeptically, but returned his attention to his glass of wine. Christine was glad for for the momentary reprieve. She had not expected him to speak to her at all.

* * *

Far below the city, Erik made his way slowly through the catacombs, silently moving through the sleeping camps of others like him, unwanted and unloved by those in the city above. He was growing weaker and he knew that if he remained where he did he would die, but his death would be anything but natural. The others who inhabited the same area he had were capable of the same cruelties Erik was. All they would've needed was to stumble upon him while he rested and he would have shortly come to draw his last breath.

He found it easiest to move at night. He could only tell it was night because of the silence that fell on the catacombs. In the daytime, noise from those who occupied these chambers echoed throughout. At night, the only sound was the occasional moan of air rushing in as a new person stole away into this place where no one would ever find them.

He turned down a narrow tunnel that he knew led to a ladder to one of the upper levels. He hoped that the group that hung out at the top of that ladder would be fast asleep when he got there. There were more people on the higher levels, but they were less likely to murder a man for the rags he wore. All but that one group. He'd heard talk from people passing what they'd assumed to be his dead body that people had a tendency to go missing at that juncture, never to be seen again. Not that it was an uncommon occurrence for people to go missing down there.

Erik came to the ladder, which was illuminated by sickly yellow light from high overhead. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of life. He could hear someone snoring, but that was the extent of the noise traveling down the shaft. Erik stepped up to the ladder and looked up, squinting against the light, which was blinding in comparison to the near pitch black conditions of the tunnel he was coming out of.

After thinking his decision through, he reached out and placed a shaky hand on the rung that was about eye level with him, and began to climb the ladder.

* * *

Raoul begged Christine to accompany him in the front room after their supper, and once more she found he looked so much like the man she'd married- and not the monster who could only touch her when he was loaded- that she couldn't say no. He took a seat on their tiny sofa and beckoned for her to come and sit next to him. She hesitated, but finally crossed the room and sat next to him, placing her hands delicately in her lap as she turned to face him.

"I-" Now that he had her attention, the viscomte found he was at a loss for words. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was what he intended to admit to his wife, but he felt horribly embarrassed for the words that he needed to tell her. Met with her gaze, he could feel his face flushing pink.

"Yes, Raoul?" she asked, her voice hardly a whisper. The viscomte swallowed hard and took a deep, shaky breath.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," he said, "I haven't told you where I've really been going nearly every day for these past months."

Christine's eyes widened in both shock and hurt as she listened to her husband. She was certain that he was about to make true what she had assumed. Her heart was breaking before he admitted to anything but concealing something from her.

Raoul couldn't bear to see her beautiful face twisted in such a way.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So I'm really not sure how often this fic is going to update, it could be 4-7 times per day or it could be 4-7 times per week, and that's all going to depend on how long it gets and how much other stuff I start working on (I do write full time as a job as well as for fun, so there's always that), so I just wanted to warn everyone right now that this fic is going to be long and it's going to take a very long time for me to complete. Updates will be kind of scarce at times but I will try not to allow more than a week to go by without an update.**

**Please enjoy and don't forget to leave a review! **

* * *

Erik made short work of climbing up the ladder, pausing only a moment as he reached the level above where he had been. The scent coming from the tunnel there was enough to spur him on. That corridor smelled like death, and the scent lingered in Erik's nose until he reached the top of the ladder. End of the line. He had a choice: he could go left into darkness and uncertainty, or he could go right and run headlong into a sleeping, snoring crowd.

Given how weak he was and how tired the climb had made him, he opted for the darkness. No matter what he found in the darkness, it would be favorable to what he would certainly find if he tried to stumble through a chamber clogged with sleeping bodies. Erik hoisted himself up into the corridor, grunting when his right elbow gave slightly under his weight. Behind him, he could hear someone stirring. He quickly disappeared into the darkness and pressed himself back against the wall, keeping as still as he could.

He watched as two people stood and came to the ladder, peering into the darkness that lay beyond the small circle of yellow light coming from the lantern that hung behind the ladder. Even with the candles the two figures carried, he couldn't make out the sex of either of them.

He could only guess that the smaller, slighter figure who stood slightly ahead of the taller, bulkier figure was a woman. The taller figure seemed more well-fed, and the way he cowered behind the other person made Erik believe that he was probably someone of some importance in their little group.

After they both peered down the hole he had just climbed out of, and attempted to pierce the blackness of the tunnel in which he hid, the taller person grabbed the shorter person roughly by the shoulder and shoved them back down the tunnel from whence they had come.

Once they were out of sight, Erik allowed himself to relax a bit. He leaned against the wall, resting his tired body for a moment before he decided to turn and continue down the dark corridor. He kept one hand against the wall as he walked, feeling for any cracks in the wall that he might be able to squeeze into so he could sleep without being too exposed. The corridor stretched on in front of him, and the stone wall was smooth and, unfortunately for him, undamaged.

Once he deemed himself a safe distance from the sleeping group, he sat down, leaning his back against the wall and letting his legs stretch out into the darkness. Though the floor was hard, cold stone Erik felt as comfortable as he would if he sat on the softest, finest cushions in the land.

* * *

The silence only served to deepen Christine's panic, and she was certain that her beloved Raoul was about to deliver the worst possible news to her. She tried to meet his eye, but every time she caught his gaze he looked away. "Raoul," she could barely stammer out his name, "Raoul, you're frightening me. Please tell me what's going on?"

"Christine, please know that I love you. I have loved you for a very long time."

"And I love you, Raoul," Christine agreed with him quickly, wringing her hands nervously. Without thinking, possibly without meaning to, Raoul reached out and took his wife's hands in his own, providing the stability that she needed so badly. Even knowing that he was about to hurt her, hurt her _deeply_, Christine calmed at his touch.

"I beg that you forgive me," he said, and then he finally met her gaze. "I've been funding a small theater. It's nothing in comparison to the opera we were involved with, but they show promise." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "_She_ shows promise."

"You're funding a theater? Or a dancer?" Christine asked, closing her eyes to fight back the tears. It was only then that Raoul realized that his drink had spoken for him. Christine pulled away from her husband and stood up. "Does she show great promise?" she asked, her voice growing shriller with every word, "Is she a singer as well? A soprano, no doubt."

"Christine, I didn't mean- She means nothing to me," Raoul backpedaled hard, but the damage had already been done. Christine fled from the room. Though Raoul gave chase, Christine was into her bedroom, door closed and bolted behind her before he could catch up.

The woman flung herself across her bed, finally allowing the tears to flow. She fell asleep clutching her tear-soaked pillow, the fancy dress she'd worn on a whim now ruined and tear-stained.

* * *

The Viscomte de Chagny pounded on his wife's door and pleaded with her to let him in for the better part of an hour before he turned and sank to the floor feeling utterly hopeless. He had meant to give her good news but to wrap it in bad news's packaging, but inadvertently had outed himself for his extramarital activities with a pretty little chorus girl who reminded him a lot of his wife before the whole ordeal with the Phantom in his lair.

Oh that Phantom, her putrid angel of music. Raoul couldn't help but sneer in disgust at even the memory of that creature, more monster than man. He only wished that the Phantom still lived, that he himself could have the pleasure of watching the life leave the creature's eyes.

When it became apparent that Christine would not be leaving her room again that evening, Raoul pulled himself to his feet and stumbled two doors down to his own room, which had been meant to be their child's room.

As he changed for bed, he thought of how his family would react, knowing that not only had he married below his station, but he no longer shared a bed with his bride. A bride he'd fought so hard to marry!


	5. Chapter 5

Christine's eyes flew open abruptly as a dream ended, the same dream she'd been having quite a lot lately. Down in her angel's home she found herself once more being forced to choose between Raoul's life and her freedom. When she had agreed to stay with her angel, she had expected him to spirit her away. She never expected to be made to look back.

Now she wished that her angel had taken her. Even a life on the run, cold and hungry every night, would've been better than to exist the way she did now, she was quite sure of it! She couldn't bear what her husband was putting her through. Soon enough she knew she would likely be out on the street and the viscomte would take a new bride, someone younger, someone who had already ensnared his heart from the sound of it.

She looked around, amazed to find that it was still nighttime. A sliver of pale moonlight provided the only light that fell across her floor, illuminating the space between her bed and the door. For a moment, she was tempted to go and crawl into her husband's bed to make a last-ditch effort to prove how committed she was to him. It didn't help that she felt horribly lonely for his touch, for any touch as long as it came on her own terms.

In the end, she decided to roll over and fall back asleep, completely disregarding the fact that she was still dressed in one of the finer dresses that had ever existed in her wardrobe.

* * *

Erik woke to a horrible laughter that echoed up and down the corridor. He flinched, his heart racing as he realized that he was bathed in light. They had found him. Before he could react further, a strong, thick hand had him by the throat. "What have we here?" asked a man with a high, nasal screech of a voice, "He looks more skeleton than man. Search his pockets."

"You- You'll find I have nothing of value, monsieur," Erik coughed as he was forced to his feet, "I am merely passing through, trying to find my way back to the surface."

"Trying to find the surface, he says!" a young girl guffawed, "With a face like that he'd do better to go picking fights in hopes of a swift death!" It was only with the girl's words that Erik realized that his face felt funny. It felt cold and lighter somehow.

"Look at the fear in his eyes!" the first person said, and he thrust the piece of porcelain into Erik's hands. "Louis, let the poor bastard down. I think I know who we've got here."

The hand that gripped his neck fell away immediately, and Erik scrambled to put his mask back on. It was far more difficult than he remembered, his fingers felt stupid and slow and they wouldn't grip anything right. His face had changed so much that he couldn't recognize the right placement. The crowd- it was only then that he could see it truly was a _crowd_- that surrounded him roared with laughter as he fumbled with it.

When at last he got it situated, he slowly looked at the people there, trying to decide what they were going to do to him, aside from laugh. They didn't seem hostile, not anymore, at least. The one called Louis seemed to be the largest of them, probably kept around purely for his size and strength, even though Erik was sure that he was a strain on their resources.

"You-" the nasal screech spoke again, and Erik could put a voice to a face. He had a long swath of black hair and a truly pathetic excuse for a mustache on his thin lip. His eyes were wide-set and his jaw was hardly a jaw at all. "You're the one what burned down the opera house. The Phantom of the opera," the man continued, and laughed even harder than he had before. "Hear that, fellows? We've got a celebrity in our ranks! To think, this is a murderer! This pathetic skeleton!"

"It would be wise," Erik started, but even forming a simple sentence was a chore and left him out of breath, "It would be wise for you to speak only of things you know for certain."

"Was that a threat?" the man replied, a great grin plastered on his already comical face, "Did you hear that? I think the ghost just threatened me! What do you think, fellows? Should we teach him what happens to those who dare to threaten us?"

"Philippe, do you honestly intend to fight a skeleton?" Another female's voice rang out clear and beautiful above the cacophony of everybody still laughing and agreeing. Her words caused an unnatural silence to fall in the tunnel, and the crowd to Erik's right parted to reveal a young woman who stood nearly as tall as his shoulder. She approached him quickly, then stood between him and the crowd. "You mock a man you once feared to even think of. I can remember a time when the mere mention of the masked madman who lived below the opera house caused you such fright that you would be watching over your shoulder for a good week after."

"And now you defend him, Joanna?" Philippe asked, "He won't last another week. I'd be doing him a kindness."

"That is why I think we should take him in. We've easily got enough resources to take on one more person. If you are right and he lasts only a week, well we've got an extra pair of hands for a week. If he survives, we've got a powerful ally. Think of the possibilities."

"Who he is hardly matters now anyway," Another man, this one older than Philippe and nearly completely bald, said dismissively, "Everyone believes him to be dead anyway. How he managed to escape is of no importance. We don't need another mouth to feed."

"Ah, but it is of the utmost importance. It proves his skill. He got away undetected."

"And what if he is merely an impostor who has taken on the identity?" the second man asked.

"What kind of idiot would willingly disfigure themselves like that?" Erik stared at the girl's back, amazed that anyone would argue so passionately for his life. Philippe was right; them killing him would be a kindness.

"If he is who he seems, he may stay," Philippe said after considering Joanna's words.

"And how is he to prove who he is?" Joanna asked, impatient.

"He shall sing," Philippe replied simply.


	6. Chapter 6

Raoul vowed to spend the day at home in an attempt to undo some of the damage he'd caused both his wife and his marriage, but after waiting most of the day for his wife to get up from bed, he gave up and dressed to leave for the day. At least if he went to check on the theater- a project he'd decided to take on purely because of Christine- he wouldn't be shut out. At the very least, a young chorus girl named Josephine would be happy to see him.

Before he set out for the theater, determined to go straight there and then come straight home after without stopping for a drink at the bar, he knocked one last time on Christine's door. "Christine? Christine, I'm going out for a short while. I will try to be home for dinner, and then perhaps we could go and take in a show?"

"Just go," Christine's voice and words sounded hollow and far away, as though spoken by someone who had fully given up on her life.

"I love you," Raoul called through the door. He received no answer. Sighing, he turned away and headed down the stairs and out the door to where his carriage waited.

The theater which Raoul had funded from nearly day one took up residence in a building only slightly larger than the viscomte's current home. His master bedroom- which he had graciously given up for Christine- was bigger than the shared dressing room that everyone but the leading man and lady crammed into between scenes.

Though it was not as grand as the opera had been, Raoul adored the company. They were a very tight-knit group, and they had accepted him into their ranks without so much as a thought. He'd made friends with everyone he'd met, including the current owner's daughter, Josephine. The girl was young but she reminded him so much of his wife…

He wished that he hadn't had as much to drink the night before. He wished he hadn't confessed to his wife about the theater while the liquor had his tongue loose. He hadn't wanted to admit to anyone, including himself, the feelings he had developed for the girl. It was improper, and the feelings he knew she returned were just as improper. He knew he needed to speak with her.

* * *

"What will forcing him to sing prove to you, Philippe?" Joanna asked, never moving from where she stood to protect Erik, "None of us have ever even been to an opera. How would we know what he sounds like?"

"You forget that Christophe was a stagehand at the opera until the night it burned," Philippe replied, "He was the one who told us of the soprano's abduction. He was in the wings when the opera ghost took Piangi's place on stage."

"I could never forget that night," another man chimed in. Through the layers of grime and dirt, Erik did recognize the man as one who had always kept his distance when Erik had been around. He'd never had any personal quarrel with the man, not as he did with Joseph Buquet. "If the man is the Phantom, I will recognize his voice."

All eyes were once again on Erik, who could barely muster the breath to tell them that he couldn't sing, hadn't been able to since that night. "If you value your life, Phantom, you will sing now."

Erik scoured his mind for something, anything, that he could sing quickly and quietly. The melody that came to him broke what little remained of the poor man's heart. "_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,_" he started, his words breathy and quiet, _"lead me, save me from my solitude. Anywhere you go let me go too…_" Erik was unable to force himself to finish the line. The crowd was completely silent as they turned back to the man called Christophe, whose face had drained of all color.

"It is him, messieurs. I am certain of it," he said with a shaky voice. The young woman who stood before Erik relaxed noticeably once his identity was confirmed.

* * *

Christine only got dressed as the sun was setting, only made her way downstairs when she was certain that her husband was not home. She dressed in white, just a simple dress she'd worn countless times before. She had one of their servants fetch her a bottle of wine and a glass to drink it from, and she hid away in Raoul's study, staring out the window at the city as she drank her cares away. If her husband could justify staying drunk all his waking hours, what prevented Christine from doing the same?

At first, the sweet wine had little effect on her, causing her to feel lightly drowsy, but the pain she felt from being lied to by the man she loved remained strong as ever. It hurt because he was the only one who understood what she'd been through. He had seen the fear and the pain. He had seen the sacrifices she was willing to make in order to save his life.

And yet at his earliest convenience he had gone out and found another _her_. That was what broke her heart. He'd been so smooth, acted so sincere, sang so passionately of his love for her… and it had all been lies. She'd thought she was special. How many other chorus girls had he gone after? She refilled her glass, thinking bitterly of how he would be home soon, drunk as a skunk. How surprised he would be to find that his wife was drunker than he?

Christine heard him enter their home calling for her, but she refused to move.


	7. Chapter 7

The way that the crowd hung on his every word made Erik uniquely uncomfortable. No matter what was happening, at least one person from the group was in such close proximity to him that he couldn't move two inches without bumping into them. For the majority of the time, that person was Joanna, the girl who had defended him. She only left his side once he'd been served a small portion of stew and a hunk of bread, and even then she was only gone for a few short minutes before she came and sat uncomfortably close to him once more.

"So you've been down here since the fire?" the girl asked after observing him in silence as he struggled to pace himself while he ate. Having spent so much time alone underground, starving occasionally but never quite so bad as this, he knew that if he ate too fast he would only suffer through all of it coming right back up on him.

"I escaped shortly after I freed the viscomte and miss Daae," Erik said thoughtfully, "I've spent many months down in the lower levels. Word travels fast down there about any movement up here, I had to listen and wait for a long time before I could even think to risk coming up this far. If I were any further from death, I wouldn't have chanced it."

"Why?"

Erik stared at her as though she was daft. "I didn't wish to be found."

"It's easier with a crowd," she said, leaning back and finally taking her gaze off of the skeletal figure beside her. It occurred to Erik that he owed her his life, at least in part. There had been a distinct chance he could've fought off one or two people, but if they'd rushed at him all at once his death would've been relatively swift, but also quite painful. "Well, for some of us at least."

"What did you stand to gain by having my life spared?" Erik asked as he nibbled at his bread, which was nearly gone. The girl looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"Nothing, really," she said with a shrug, "It's just, the way so many people have feared you and regarded you as this monstrous demon… It didn't feel right to let you die at the hands of a group of beggars and thieves wandering the catacombs."

"You're not like the others, are you?" the gaunt man asked as he finished off the last crumbs of his bread. He had a few spoonfuls of broth and some vegetables left in his cup, and he was savoring every morsel. It had been months since he'd had a meal even half that size, and they hadn't provided him with very much.

His words got a reaction, just as he expected. Her eyes widened and her voice raised nearly half an octave as she replied, too quickly, "No? What are you talking about? I've been living with this group for the better part of a year."

"Your clothes are new. You don't have the same stink on you as the rest of the people down here. If I had to guess, I would even say you're wearing perfume. A scent a dear friend of mine wore, once upon another time." As soon as he'd referred to Christine as a dear friend of his, he regretted it. He knew that she wouldn't want to be associated with someone like him.

"Keep your voice down," Joanna hissed. Erik fought to hide the tiny smirk that crept onto his lips at her reaction. He didn't know why he taunted her so, perhaps it was because he knew that she would be a formidable opponent. She knew much about him. More, perhaps, than any of the others in her little group of vagrants. That made her dangerous, but it also made her quite attractive.

And there was something about her, not only did she smell like Christine, but in the brighter light of the gathered torches and lanterns Erik could see that she even looked like Christine, only a bit shorter and with a rounder face.

She was built like a dancer, only perhaps slightly skinnier than the dancers that Erik had seen while he'd lived beneath the opera house and watched rehearsals from the catwalks.

* * *

"What do you mean she's not here?" Raoul had demanded when he'd arrived at the theater. He knew their schedule well enough by now that even he knew all cast members had to be there for the afternoon rehearsals now. They were mandatory. And yet Josephine had not shown up yet. Hadn't even sent word! It was infuriating to think that someone he'd invested so much time, energy, and money in would just waste their good fortune and jeopardize their involvement in what they had claimed to be a dream come true just months before.

"I will wait for her," he told the director, a surly fellow he knew only by his first name, Gaston.

"Have it your way, just keep out of the way while we rehearse. She better have a good excuse for missing dress rehearsals, especially now that our leading lady has injured herself."

"Madeleine's been hurt?" Raoul asked. For a brief moment he panicked as he remembered the lengths to which the Phantom had gone to put Carlotta out of the picture back at the opera- but he knew there was no chance of something like that happening now. The Phantom was dead. He had assurances of it from one of the men who had pursued the foul creature below the opera house. He'd been quite dead when the mob had at last exacted its revenge for Piangi and Buquet.

"Her carriage tipped over this morning as she was on her way in. She's got a broken arm, likely going to be out for our first two shows." The way Gaston spat the words, one would think that he believed she purposely tipped her carriage. Their leading lady, the soprano that Raoul had heard sing only a handful of times, had a lovely voice, but it was nothing like what they could have. If Christine would only agree to come down to the theater once, if she would only get up on stage and sing even one aria…

Raoul had heard her sing the day before. He knew she still had the voice of an angel. If only he hadn't possibly irreparably damaged his relationship with his wife.


	8. Chapter 8

As her husband approached the study, Christine made an attempt at standing up, intending to confront him about the girl he'd mentioned the day before. It was only as she stood and felt her strong, dancer's legs wavering beneath her that she realized how drunk she was. It took all of her strength not to fall across the floor, though in order to catch herself she had to flop across the table she had set the wine bottle and her glass on. The glass crashed to the floor, sending a spray of broken glass across the rug as well as a lovely splotch of purple-red wine.

As she pulled herself back into the chair, she knocked the wine bottle over, and it spilled down into her lap before falling to the floor. She heard her husband cry out for her, followed by heavy footsteps rapidly approaching the study. "Christine!" Raoul hollered from the doorway, "Oh God, no! Christine? Christine!"

He flew to her side, mistaking the wine that stained her dress for blood and obviously not noticing the bottle that had rolled under the chair. It wasn't until Christine began laughing at him that he realized her drunken state wasn't the life quickly leaving her body from some unseen mortal wound.

It took him a bit longer to recognize the scent of wine on her breath, and when he did he was incredibly angry. He had fought with himself to stay sober all day so he could have a level head when he tried to speak to her again, and here Christine was, drunk as a deacon on holiday. "So this is how you spent your day?" he growled, and he let her slump over in the chair, still laughing at him. She said something to him, but her speech was so slurred that he could barely tell that she was even trying to form words.

"I suppose you'll need help getting to bed then," he asked, glaring at her, clearly disgusted with what she had done. He hardly had any room to be disgusted with her behavior from one night though, and he knew it. She was drunk because of his actions. She hadn't chosen it as a pass-time the way he had.

The viscomte sighed and picked his wife up, cradling her in front of him as he carefully carried her out of the study and down the hall to their bedroom. Despite her loud protestations and half-hearted flailing, he undressed her and dumped her unceremoniously on their bed.

Christine wouldn't remember what happened that night. Raoul was counting on that.

* * *

In the catacombs, Erik finally found himself 'alone,' even though he was surrounded by people on every side. One by one, his newfound companions stretched out across the floor and fell asleep. There were two people who were chosen to keep watch for the first half of the night, and they stood near the ladder that Erik had used to trespass into their realm. Joanna had tried hard to get him to come and sleep near her and her friend- a young girl of maybe fourteen named Emmalyn, who also held herself like a dancer- but he'd refused, insisting that he didn't need to sleep that often.

It was true, he didn't generally have a need for as much sleep as most people did, but the girl seemed hurt by his response. If he knew where the girls had gone off to, he might've gone and sat near them, but he still didn't know whether it was even wise to trust the girl who had seemed to know just the right words to say to ensure that his life was spared.

Eventually, Erik did doze off, but not for more than a couple hours at most. When he woke, he saw two small figures sneaking through the sea of sleeping bodies. In the dim light given off by the few lanterns still scattered about, Erik could make out Joanna's long, curly brown hair and the pink shawl she'd been wearing the previous day.

* * *

Christine woke late in the morning, her head pounding and her body feeling like she'd been bucked from a horse and then trampled. She'd never felt so ill. It was hell to even roll over.

When she came face to face with her sleeping husband, it no longer mattered how much she ached. She flew from the bed, backing against the wall in horror. It took feeling the cool wood against the skin of her back for her to realize she was nude. A horrible wail escaped her lips as she tore the blanket off the bed- and off Raoul- to cover herself. "How dare you?" she shrieked, "How _dare_ you?"

Raoul opened his eyes slowly, yawning and stretching as he did. It took him a moment to acknowledge Christine or her screeched words. "Good morning," he said.

"You're mad," Christine howled, "Why did I ever agree to marry you? What hell have I wrought upon myself?" She was very near hysterics at this point, her voice growing higher with every word. Raoul got up when he realized how upset she was, when he realized it wasn't just her still being drunk and loud the way she had during the night.

"Christine, Christine calm down, everything's all right," Raoul said, trying to sound soothing. It had the exact opposite effect on her, and Christine stumbled out into the hall, the blanket wrapped tightly around her body. Her head was pounding and her thoughts were screaming at her. Everything was too bright and nothing made sense. "Christine!" Raoul's cries grew more desperate as she stumbled down the hall toward the stairs. Raoul gave chase, but before he could catch up to her, he watched in horror as her hand slipped and she tumbled forward down the stairs.

"Christine!"


	9. Chapter 9

Erik was given another meager serving of food as the group roused for the day. It was the same food as the night before, but the stew was nice and hot and the bread was only a little stale. For the first time since he'd been picked up by the group, Erik was allowed to be alone. Well, as alone as one could really be in a crowded underground chamber. There were maybe forty people altogether, not counting Joanna or her little friend, who weren't present for the morning meal.

He had to admire them, being able to feed so many mouths and stay relatively well hidden.

It wasn't until he was nearly finished with his stew that a young boy, maybe five or six years old, if Erik had to guess, came and sat down in front of him, staring up into Erik's eyes. Erik stared right back at the boy.

"Why do you wear a mask?" the boy asked loudly. It occurred to Erik that he hadn't been present when the group had unmasked him the night before. Probably had happened long past his bedtime. "Are you a performer?"

Erik smiled for the first time in what had seemed an eternity. The last person to have been graced by a sighting of his smile had been Christine on that fateful night that had changed his life forever. It felt strange and he wasn't sure he liked it. "I used to be," Erik replied, "But I haven't been for some time."

The boy's eyes widened. "Can you perform tricks? Do you juggle, or…?" Erik couldn't help but laugh.

"I know a few tricks," he admitted with a smirk.

He showed off a few cheap tricks for the boy, and before too long he had a small crowd of children ranging from about three years old to probably fourteen or fifteen years old watching him intently.

* * *

Staring down at her from the top of the stairs, Raoul's first reaction was to believe that his wife was dead. She lay so still, her head turned at an odd angle, her arms sprawled awkwardly and her legs up near her chest. "Oh, oh no," he whimpered, and a horrible howl of agony escaped his lips as he hurried down the stairs to her side.

As he knelt beside her, he began shaking uncontrollably. He wanted to hold her, but at the same time he knew that he didn't deserve to comfort himself by holding her lifeless body.

"Oh Christine," he sobbed, his voice cracking, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Christine, please forgive me." He reached out to her with trembling hands and very carefully pulled her into his lap, cradling her head in his arms. It was only when he felt her breath, weak and light but _there,_ against his arm that he realized there was still a chance to save his wife. "Christine?" he asked, shifting her so he could look down into her face.

"Someone fetch a doctor! We need a doctor!" he hollered at their servants, "Now!"

* * *

By the end of his first full day with the group, Erik had managed to win over just about everyone save for the man who had confirmed his identity and the one called Philippe. He had no idea how he'd managed to do it, either. In the past, people had always shied away from him or looked upon him with fear, but these people who lived such a basic life looked at him as an equal.

Or perhaps they looked at him with awe?

When he had run out of tricks that he could feasibly do with what was available to him, he figured that the people would leave him to do other things, but that's when a woman of roughly Christine's age came forward and knelt beside where Erik sat. "Monsieur, I have heard that you once tutored a great opera singer, is that true?"

"I tutored a singer, yes," Erik said hesitantly. Even thinking of Christine brought him fresh sorrow. He knew he had to move on. He'd done the right thing. She was certainly better off, she never would've survived down here with him.

"Would you be able to help me learn to sing better? I- I'll give you some of my food rations, and I can make you a nice blanket to lay on if you like, I know it's not a lot but-"

Erik held his hand up, signaling for her to stop talking. "It is all right. You needn't be so generous, I will give you lessons if you wish. I only ask that you allow me to regain some of my strength before we begin."

The woman's eyes filled with tears and she nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, thank you, monsieur, thank you!" Erik looked into her eyes, expecting to see evidence that she was joking, but she looked most sincere. As he looked around, he found that there were at least three others who were showing interest in him now. He had never been sought out as a teacher before, hell he'd never been sought out for anything but to be strung up by an angry mob. With one night of good fortune, he'd gone from a life of being unwanted to a life of relative popularity.

He had no idea how to handle it, but his heart soared as he thought of what came along with friendship. These people were unafraid to look upon him. They would gladly shrug up next to him and listen to him speak or sing. The children wanted to play with him.

But even the warm feeling that it all gave him felt oddly hollow. Even surrounded by people who were friendly, he found himself wanting Christine. Just to hear her sing once more would've allowed him to be properly happy for the first time in his life.

As he spoke to another girl, much younger than the first, about singing lessons, Joanna returned from wherever she'd snuck off to. She was wearing a different dress, and she had a couple of large bags slung over her shoulder. She looked positively worn out.

Erik wanted to go and talk to her, but before he could, she took a serving of supper and retreated beyond the edge of the dimly lit area they called home. If she'd noticed him, she'd ignored him. Perhaps it was payback for him not wanting to go and lay near her the night before, but Erik hoped that she was merely tired and wished to be alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: It seems I am slowing down significantly on these updates. At most, I think I will be able to update once daily, however it is possible it could be once every two days. I will continue to update as often as possible. Thank you for reading and for your kind reviews!**

* * *

Christine had been exceptionally lucky. Though she'd tumbled down the stairs and managed to knock herself unconscious, she only suffered a broken wrist and some quite exquisite cuts and bruises. Raoul finally managed to wake her as the doctor arrived. She was confused and still a bit hysterical, but it was written off as a byproduct of the fall. There wasn't much to be done for her aside from bandaging her larger cuts and immobilizing her wrist.

She was given morphine for both the pain and the hysteria, and Raoul was instructed that she should not be left alone until the confusion wore off. He was to gently remind her of where she was, who she was, who _he_ was… Raoul would gladly have done anything he was needed to do in order to help his wife recover. He would send word to the theater that he wouldn't be coming around for some time. If it would help Christine, he would take her out of the city.

They could go out into the country, maybe stay with some of his friends for a while. The fresh air would certainly do her some good.

* * *

By the middle of his third day with the group, Erik almost felt like he had a family. Though it was still quite strange, being touched so willingly, having such rapt attention paid to his every word, he found that he loved it. It was all he had craved throughout his life, just to have people not shy away from him, to pay attention to him, to not be frightened by what his mask hid. True, he hadn't removed his mask again while he had been with them, but that was more out of comfort than necessity.

It wasn't until they were serving the last meal of the day on that third day that Joanna finally came and sat by Erik again. She looked slightly less like the porcelain doll she'd resembled when she'd returned from wherever she had gone during the daytime hours, but she looked far more well rested.

"They've all been playing nice, right?" she asked as she brought him a bowl of what they currently had, which was some sort of fish soup. The stew had run out at breakfast.

Erik nodded as he took the bowl, sniffing its contents cautiously. His stomach already had been giving him hell for even daring to eat with any regularity, he was unsure of how the fish would settle. Still, despite feeling sick, he still was quite hungry. He was beginning to get some of his strength back, and had found it much easier to maneuver through what little walking space there was in the cavern now that he wasn't plagued by dizziness from dehydration and lack of food.

Philippe glared at him every time he moved, as though now that he was finally starting to feel more like himself he was going to go around strangling the people who had accepted him so readily. Joanna had been right in assuming that saving his life would earn them an ally. As long as they didn't wrong him, they had nothing to fear from him.

"The children enjoy listening to my stories," he said after he'd taken a cautious sip of his soup. Joanna raised an eyebrow.

"So you're playing nice too, then?" she asked, teasing him.

"I've nothing to gain by being mean to children," Erik replied with a shrug.

"Monsieur Phantom, who had an entire opera house afraid for their lives, playing with children. You know, I was training under Madame Giry. I was supposed to be in the chorus for _Don Juan Triumphant_." Erik stared at her, quite confused. He had thought he knew each of the dancers at the opera house, by looks at least. Yet Joanna, despite looking quite similar to his Christine, was not a familiar face. Joanna seemed to understand his confusion, and quickly continued, "I didn't live in the dormitories there. My mother was one of the costumers. We lived with my aunt, not too far from the opera house. After the fire, I couldn't find my mother…

"My aunt didn't want to have another mouth to feed without an additional income, so I was out on the streets. It was lucky that I found Philippe. He brought me down here and introduced me to everyone. He's also the reason I'm allowed to go above ground. Not all of us are. And not everyone knows that I'm allowed to, either. It's a privilege you have to guard in this life."

"So there is a way above ground nearby?" Erik asked hopefully. He so desperately wanted to go and find Christine. He just wanted to know that he'd done the right thing, that she was having a happy life.

Joanna chuckled darkly, "Yeah, there's a ladder to the surface down that dark tunnel we found you in. Not too far from where you were, either. But that's where Louis stays. Unless Philippe or Céleste tell him that someone's allowed down there, he has authority to kill those who try to pass to the surface. It endangers us when people just come and go as they please. The police don't take too kindly to us. To any of the people down here, really. I've been stopped a few times trying to get back down here. They give me some big speech about how it's dangerous down here, but in the end I can always find a way back down."

"Far more dangerous on the streets than down here," Erik said. Joanna nodded.

"Too many men who would expect that my being unaccompanied at nighttime means that I am one who can be bought for their pleasure. Down here, if anybody tries to take me that way, I can call on Louis or one of the other men. They treat me like a princess," she said, beaming.

* * *

Day passed into night before Christine's half-opened eyes. Her husband flitted about the room as she watched, only seeing some of what was before her. Before the morphine, every movement had been pain. After the morphine, she didn't even want to bother moving. Nothing hurt physically anymore, but there was nothing she could do to quiet her mind.

Seeing Raoul sit next to her bed, feeling him take her hand, hearing but not comprehending his words- she wanted to vomit. How she wanted to reach out and slap him, to scream at him until her face turned blue. She wanted to hit him until she could no longer raise her hands to continue striking him.

Alas, she was heavily sedated, and would continue to be for quite some time while her body recovered.


	11. Chapter 11

After four days of sitting with his wife and watching her just continue to lie there, staring straight ahead at the wall opposite the bed, Raoul decided that despite his previous determination to stay at her side, he would be better off going and checking on his theater. He sent for one of their servants and was met with a slight girl who was impossibly pale and had an impossible mop of blond curls on her head.

"I do not recognize your face," Raoul said as she approached. The little girl curtseyed.

"I apologize, Viscomte, I am a recent hire, I am replacing Marie in the kitchen and I am the only one not already terribly busy," the little girl said. Looking at her, Raoul determined that she couldn't have been much older than twelve years old. He shook his head slightly in disgust. She was too young to be spending her time cleaning someone's house and preparing their food. She deserved a childhood. But still, if he had the work and she needed it, who was he to refuse her?

"I see. And what is your name, child?"

"Emmalyn, monsieur."

"Well then Emmalyn, how would you like to sit with my wife for a while? She recently had a rather bad fall and she's still recovering. She's not to be left alone, but I must go and take care of some business."

"Will I not be needed in the kitchen?" the girl asked. Raoul chuckled, smiling warmly at her.

"I shall speak with Lotte and see that someone else is hired for the kitchen. I would like you to focus on my wife from now on. You will help her, keep her company, and make sure she is comfortable. You shall be justly compensated for your time."

"Are you sure, monsieur? It does not seem a job suited to someone of my status…"

Raoul shook his head, "I have a feeling that you and my wife will have plenty to speak of when she is well enough to speak. Until then, perhaps you could just tell her stories or even just sit in there with her."

Emmalyn's face lit up suddenly as she thought of something, "Might I sing to her?" Raoul smiled.

"I think she would like that. So, will you do it?"

The girl nodded enthusiastically, and Raoul led her into the bedroom. "Christine, this is Emmalyn. She is going to be your personal servant from now on. When I'm not here, she will be. I will be back for supper, perhaps Emmalyn can help you sit up before then?"

Christine didn't respond at all, but Raoul took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles anyway. "I love you, darling. I will see you soon."

Before Emmalyn could ask what she was to do if something were to happen, the Viscomte de Chagny turned on his heel and was out the door. The young woman stood near the door, trying not to stare at the woman in the bed.

* * *

After having sat in the same spot for the better part of seven days, Erik was stiff but grateful to be up and walking around. The man who had identified him when he'd been found came and collected him just before everyone else went to bed. "C'mon. Philippe says it's time you start earning your keep. We're gonna see what you've got, Phantom."

The way his statement was worded worried Erik, but he wasn't really in a position to refuse to do whatever it was they were about to ask of him. Neither of the men saw the girl following them, staying just far back enough to be consistently untouched by the light of their lantern.

After they had been walking for quite a long while in silence, Erik glanced over at the man who led him and asked, "What is it we're going to do?"

"There's a man been stealing from our supplies when he thinks we're all asleep. Philippe wants us to dispose of him and he doesn't want it done all messy. Figured this fit your skills better than most things we could have you do."

Erik stared at the man in amusement. They'd immediately jumped to the idea that he would just kill for them. How they'd come to believe such a thing was beyond him. He had half a mind to tell the man he wanted no part in murder. He could not relish in the death of another, not anymore. Having come so desperately close to death himself, he knew what a precious commodity it was underground.

But at the same time he knew that he owed these people a debt. If it meant his own continued survival… He shook his head. "Do you realize what you're asking me to do?" Erik asked.

"The same that was going to eventually be asked of you by _someone_ if you remain with us. Best you get used to it, it's not often we have a killer in our ranks and we like to make use of them."

_So that's all I am to you, then?_ Erik thought bitterly. _So many skills to offer, all they need do is ask and I can do such amazing and beautiful things for them, but they want me to string up the thieves who dare steal from other thieves._

They didn't go much farther before the former stagehand set the lantern down and turned to Erik. "I figured you might need this," he said, handing him a length of worn rope fashioned into a noose. "I was the one who cut Piangi down. When I had to flee, I figured it might be a useful weapon."

Erik stared at the man through the dim light. "You honestly expect me to go through with this?" he asked.

"If you want to keep eating our food, then yeah. Philippe's not too keen on you. Thinks you spend too much time sitting and chatting at the pretty girls. Do this, you'll have him off your back for a good long while."

_"_Where is the man?" Erik asked with a sigh. Best to just get it over with. He tried not to notice how his hands shook just holding that rope he'd used to kill a man with.

"Ahead about fifteen paces, he sleeps in a crack in the wall, just big enough for him to squeeze into. Do you want me to-" The man didn't get to finish his sentence as Erik shushed him and disappeared into the darkness. The man stood and waited, listening intently, as the girl who had been following them crept forward and knelt to pick up their lantern.

At the first sound of a struggle, she pulled the lantern up and hurried forward, intending to help the former Opera Ghost. What the weak flame of the lantern revealed was not Joanna's new friend being bested by another thief, but Erik keeping the rope taut as a half-asleep man dressed all in dirty rags flailed and fought against him.

The girl's shrieks of fear echoed through the tunnel as she dropped the lantern and took off running back toward their little settlement. It was only when the lantern clattered against the ground and was snuffed out that Erik realized anything had happened. For just a moment, he loosened his grip. "Joanna?" he whispered. _Oh no_, he thought, _did she see? Does she now think Erik to be a monster?_ The thoughts made him want to cry, but they also filled him with a rage he hadn't felt in months.

As the man's kicking and flailing became more spirited, Erik pulled the rope hard, tightening it more than he had before. The other man gave out a horrible squelching sound as he clawed at his own neck, desperate for air. It was only when the man's protestations weakened that Erik broke his neck.

He took the lasso from the man's neck, knowing that he would need to use it again and rope was scarce down there. He walked back over to the man who'd led him there. "It is done. Let us return," he said.


	12. Chapter 12

Raoul spent most of the next two days at the theater watching rehearsals and holding meetings with the staff. Josephine didn't show up again until the middle of the second day, and when she did she looked horribly distraught. Raoul was relieved if a little confused to find that she was still in the cast. She'd missed many mandatory rehearsals. That was grounds for three other dancers to be let go in the past week.

Even though he didn't understand how she'd come to avoid the chopping block, Raoul was pleased that she was still involved with the company. He'd been worried about her, and her present state made him worry even more. He watched her from the edge of the stage as she argued with one of the other chorus girls. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but she was stomping her foot and shouting, and that made him suspect that the other girl had questioned why she was still in the company.

After the little argument, Josephine scurried across the stage, completely oblivious to Raoul and one of the managers of the theater, who Raoul stood with. "Josephine!" he called to her, and her head shot up. She stared at him like she'd seen a ghost, but slowly she relaxed as she realized who it was. She started over to meet him, and he walked over to meet her halfway.

"Raoul! What a pleasant surprise! I haven't seen you in ages. I thought you'd stopped coming!"

The viscomte shook his head, grinning softly, "Of course not. I merely had… There was an accident at home." Josephine's eyes widened and her hands flew to her face.

"Your wife?" she asked, "Is she-?" The girl who looked so much like Christine couldn't bear to even think the word 'dead' about the wife of the man she'd had eyes for since they'd first met.

"No, no of course not. She's not well, though, and I've had to stay with her. But I figured with opening night coming up in just a week, I should be here to show my support." Josephine looked noticeably relieved at his words. She was quite jealous of Christine, but she truly did enjoy watching Raoul's eyes light up when he spoke of his wife. Now, however, she could see tremendous guilt lining his eyes, dimming the light of love. It made her want to wrap her arms around the man and comfort him. She could see that he was worried for his wife.

"I'm so sorry, monsieur," she whispered, "I hope that she recovers quickly. Didn't you say that you wanted to bring her to opening night?" Raoul nodded.

"I wanted to surprise her with the news. She didn't take any of it well, I'm afraid," he sighed, then shrugged. "But enough about me. You were missing rehearsals last week. I came in to see you and you never showed up."

The color drained from Josephine's face and her mind raced as she tried to recall the excuse she'd given for the first of four missed rehearsals. "I- I'm deeply sorry," she said quickly, looking down, "My younger sister had a very important interview to go to, I had to take her. It was a very long trip and we had to walk, monsieur."

"Your younger sister?" he asked, looking her up and down. He knew the girl was probably older than she looked, but not by much.

"Yes," she said, nodding, "we were given word that a household was looking for a new maid and she's quite good at cleaning. She managed to secure a job. It's live-in, which is lovely. Mother won't have to worry about feeding as many mouths." She smiled nervously as the viscomte considered her words.

* * *

Erik sat back down in what had more or less become _his_ spot once the killing had been done, and he stared at the floor for a very long time. Off in the distance, he could hear Joanna weeping. He wanted to go to her and tell her that he wasn't really like that, that he didn't _want_ to kill the man, but he also didn't want to die, not now that he was to be able to formulate a plot to go above ground once more.

He couldn't deny that it had come easily to his hands. It was almost as cathartic as beating up on the organ in his home had been, though it made him feel hollow. He felt cruel for how he'd allowed the man to suffer, yet at the same time he didn't feel that he'd dangled the possibility of survival in front of the man's face for quite long enough, either.

But the scream, that horrible wail… He hadn't been prepared for that. He'd had his victims struggle before, sure, but he'd never had an audience. There was something so uniquely intimate and personal about killing someone. It wasn't something that Erik felt should be shared with others not directly involved. He almost felt violated.

He knew that Joanna was never going to speak to him again. He was already accepting that fact. He just hoped that she would do him a kindness and not spread the word of what he'd done around to the other children. He didn't want to lose all the friends he'd made.

He had very nearly fallen asleep when he felt someone fall across his legs. He jerked his head up to see who it was, and found himself face to face with the girl Emmalyn, who was good friends with Joanna. Before either of them could say anything, Emmalyn pushed herself to her feet and continued running and attempting to dodge the other people who were still attempting to sleep. He wondered why the girl was in such a hurry. He'd seen her leave with Joanna a few times, but she'd always seemed reluctant to go.

Erik tried to just shrug it off and fall asleep, but sleep continued to elude him. When breakfast was served, he very nearly fell asleep in his bowl.

* * *

When Raoul finally started going back to his normal daily routine, Christine was able to relax. As she relaxed, she began to process what had happened, and as she did that, she cried.

Sometimes, while she cried, the young girl Raoul had left to care for her would come and try to console her, other times the girl kept her distance, looking thoroughly overwhelmed with the situation. Christine wished that she could speak, but whenever the drugs she was pumped full of began to wear off, the doctor would appear again with another syringe filled with liquid that burned and made her feel blissfully numb. But with that bliss came the inability to care enough to remember how to work her mouth.

For the most part, Christine just lay there, staring blankly at the wall or the ceiling. If she wasn't doing that, she was sleeping, crying, or watching the girl who Raoul left with her.

Sometimes Emmalyn would sing to Christine, and it would stop her crying for a short while. Other times the girl would tell stories to the woman or dance for her, anything to try and make her smile, though she also did the things because she was quite bored and it helped if she was moving around or singing.

"You're quite lucky to be married to someone like the viscomte," Emmalyn said shortly before the end of the day on the second day she sat with Christine. Those words caught Christine's ear, and she turned her head to look directly at the girl. "He's so kind and gentle with you, I've seen the love in his eyes when he talks about you."

"You're wrong," Christine whispered, her voice faltering. The girl's eyes widened and she jumped up from the chair where she'd been sitting. "The only luck I have is bad," she continued, every single word requiring an immense amount of effort.

"But he loves you so much, how is that bad luck?"

"He is the reason for my injuries," Christine said, and then she turned her head to look away from the girl. She was quite tired now and needed to rest.

* * *

At the theater, Raoul watched from the front row as Josephine rehearsed in the lead role. Madeleine, their star, was going to be out for the duration of their first show, and with Christine recovering from her accident, they had precious few options. Josephine knew the part as sure as any of the other actors knew their own, but her singing was lacking. There wasn't any heart to it, though she did have a lovely voice.

As the rehearsal ended and the actors were given notes, Raoul beckoned Josephine over to him. She eagerly slipped down off the stage and hurried over to him. "How did I do?" she asked, nervously wringing her hands. Raoul smiled, hoping he could conceal his disappointment about her voice.

"You'll perform beautifully on opening night. You're doing well. Keep practicing and your voice can only improve." Josephine's entire face lit up at his words, and this time she was unable to keep herself from hugging the viscomte. She realized what she was doing almost immediately and tore away from him, glancing up at him in embarrassment before tripping over her own feet in an attempt at making a speedy exit.

Raoul stood there grinning like an idiot for a few moments before he turned to leave. It was getting late and he needed to let the young girl who'd been so willing to take care of his wife go home. Her family would surely be worried about her.


	13. Chapter 13

Joanna returned from the surface late that evening, and as soon as he noticed she was coming Erik hurried away from the main of the group, choosing to hide just beyond the edge of the light that marked their territory. He didn't want to frighten her, and so he figured it would be best for him to spend a few days in the shadows, where she wouldn't be able to see him and be reminded of what she'd witnessed in the dark.

He watched her from the cover of darkness, and was puzzled when he found that she seemed worried by his absence. He could hear her asking one of the men who usually sat near him where he'd gone, but the man had been sleeping when Erik stole away and had no idea.

It wasn't too long, however, before someone did point her in his direction, and Joanna strode right up to the edge of the light, watching her shadow merge with the perfect black darkness that Erik took cover in. "I know you're there," she said when she was met only with silence. "You can't hide from me forever," she continued when she received no reply.

"What makes you think I'm hiding from you?" Erik asked after a long moment. He didn't move to reveal himself, but he also didn't shy away when the girl stepped into the shadows after him. She didn't know it, but she stood just inches from the man who stood much more steadily on his feet then than he had just a week prior thanks entirely to her act of kindness.

"Well, you know, you're not really the kind to just go scavenging," she replied, taking one infinitely small step forward, smirking when the toe of her shoe made contact with his dull shoes. Now Erik shied away. The confident way in which she'd closed in on him gave him an odd sense of fright, reminding him briefly of that night, of his opera, the confident way that Christine, _his_ Christine, had strutted about the stage.

"And after what I saw you do last night, I doubt you'd be allowed too far without an escort. Word travels fast down here when there's an assassin," she continued as she took a few cautious steps forward. Erik could see the faint outline of her as she went in the wrong direction. He'd stepped back closer to the light and closer to the wall to her left. "People don't like knowing there's someone down here who's good at killing. Number one cause of angry mobs, you know."

Erik continued to say nothing, instead choosing to watch as she felt around for him in the dark. "You know, this isn't helping the case for you _not_ hiding from me, monsieur Phantom."

"You would honestly still be seen with Erik after what you saw last night?" Erik asked quietly. Joanna turned around, listening for his voice as she approached him.

"Is that your name?" she asked. He didn't reply. He hadn't intended to address himself in the third person, no usually he tried to keep that for when he spoke to himself and nobody else could hear him. "As I said when we first met. You make a powerful ally. A bit frightening, but powerful." As she spoke, she reached out and placed her hand on Erik's arm. He tensed up at her touch. "You can kill a man with so little effort, yet you can't allow yourself to be touched. What life have you known, monsieur Phantom?"

"You would do well to distance yourself from me," the masked man replied as the girl pulled away, letting her fingertips trail down his arm. He shuddered at the sensation. "I will bring you nothing but sorrow, child."

"You can bring me what I want," Joanna replied, correcting him. "Look, I need your help. I need you to teach me to sing the way you taught Christine."

"Of course I will help you better your singing. I've been helping many of the other ladies-"

"No, I need you to focus your attention on me. I need to get a lot better very quickly. It's of the utmost importance."

"I cannot promise anything, I've yet to hear what you even sound like," Erik replied, uncertain. Joanna laughed.

"I sing well enough to ensnare the ear of the Viscomte de Chagny," she replied. Erik felt the color drain from his face at the mention of the man's name. "But I know I can do better. I want him to come and see me sing and forget all about his wife at home."

* * *

When Raoul checked on Christine upon arriving home from the theater, Emmalyn was just finishing dusting the room while the soprano slept, her brow furrowed as though whatever dreams she was having troubled her immensely. Raoul crossed the room and knelt at her bedside, kissing her forehead and gently taking her hand in his.

Christine relaxed almost immediately with his touch. Raoul couldn't contain the joyous smile that took his face, but as he leaned in to kiss her again, his wife shifted and sleepily spoke a single word.

"Angel," she said with a smile. Raoul pulled away from her, cursing under his breath. So, it wasn't the presence of her husband that calmed her, but the assumed presence of that old opera ghost. He watched as Christine closed herself off again, her brow furrowing with worry and stress that Raoul couldn't comprehend as she clutched the bedsheets. He scowled at her, his wife who still pined for a man who had nearly killed him so many months ago.

He knew that he should feel grateful for what she had done, it had spared his life, but Christine had actually chosen that monster over him. He wasn't really one who had room to judge, however. He'd only decided to come home after he'd done his best to convince Josephine to allow him to give her a ride where she needed to go. She'd refused his every offer, insisting that she preferred walking. He hadn't been able to ignore the sly smirk she'd shot over her shoulder as she'd hurried off into the night. He was certain that she was playing hard to get.

"Oh, my angel of music," Christine murmured, "why have you abandoned me, angel?"

The words were out before he could stop himself, his tongue loosed by his resentment. "Your angel left you because he was a monster and he died a monster's death," he hissed. Christine's eyes snapped open and she let out a cry of surprise as she found herself face to face with her husband. "Raoul!"

"Yes, Raoul!" he replied, mimicking her tone, "Who else would it be, Christine?"

"Raoul, I- I'm sorry!" she cried, pulling away from him, "Please, it was just a dream, I can't control my dreams!"

"You desire your dear angel, is that it?" Raoul demanded, a crazy sort of fire flashing in his eyes. Christine's eyes were wide and full of fear as Raoul stood, never breaking eye contact with his wife. "You want a madman, a murderer? A _monster_?" He spat the last word.

"Raoul, please, you're frightening me!" Christine begged as she continued to inch away from him. He responded by reaching forward with incredible speed and wrapping his hand around her injured wrist. Christine cried out in pain and tried to pull away, but he was far stronger than she was and she couldn't wrench herself free without causing blinding pain to radiate from where he held her. "Let me go!"

"All you needed to do was to ask, my darling wife," Raoul said as he pulled her closer to him. Christine continued to fight against him as she was pulled inch by inch closer to him. He cleared his throat, and in an impressive impersonation of his wife's voice he continued, "Oh Raoul, please threaten me with murder. Kill a bunch of people in order to advance my career- hell kidnap me and hide me away underground while everybody worries about me! It is all I crave in this world!"

"Raoul _stop it_!" Christine shrieked. "Raoul please, I'm frightened, this isn't you!"

"But it is what you want, isn't it?" Raoul asked as he finally yanked her out of the bed, allowing her to fall to her knees with a clatter as her bones met the hard floor before he yanked her to her feet as she cried out in pain.

"Monsieur Viscomte!" a small, terrified voice said. Raoul looked around, bewildered by the voice, which he didn't recognize at first. Finally, his gaze landed on the small blond girl he'd put in charge of watching his wife. He hadn't relieved her of her duty for the night and so she'd been standing there, in the corner, watching the entire terrifying ordeal as he had manhandled his wife.

Raoul released his wife's arm and she crumpled by his feet, sobbing so hard she was practically screaming.

"Go," he told the girl, "Forget all of this. Breathe even one word of this to anyone and I will see to it that you never again see the light of day."

Emmalyn fled from the room, took the stairs down to the main level two at a time, and was out the front door before Raoul could turn his attention back to his wife.

It all felt quite surreal to him, like he'd been watching himself act out what he'd just done. Like it had been a dream. A nightmare from which he wasn't waking. He fell to his knees beside his wife, who cringed away from him, her entire body heaving with every great sob that escaped her chest.


	14. Chapter 14

Erik demanded that Joanna sit down and tell him everything she knew of the Viscomte de Chagny and his wife, but the information would not be won so easily. "You are a wretched tease," he muttered under his breath as he followed Joanna back to where he normally sat. Though he knew there was no way that she could've heard his words, the girl glanced back at him and winked.

"I told you, I will trade you the information you seek for singing lessons."

"You had better have more information than simply his name, child. If you try my patience, your fate will be the same as that of the man in the dark," Erik hissed as he sat down. Joanna shrugged, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. For a moment, Erik thought he was looking into the face of his angel, his Christine, but the moment passed and he had to remind himself that she had escaped such a life. She lived above ground in a fine home with fine furniture and a fine husband. It was a life he would never have been able to give her.

"The sooner you help me get better at my singing, the sooner I will talk," she said simply. Erik sighed and gestured for her to give it a go. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to sing?"

"Whatever comes to mind, let's hear what you're giving me to work with," he replied. The girl took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, balling her hands up into fists as she returned to that feeling of being on stage just hours before, in a place where she was accepted and not shunned.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye_," she began, and her voice brought utter silence to the crowd. Even Erik found himself in awe of the girl's talent. Whoever had taught her previously had been a wonderful tutor. "_Remember me every so often, promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me._"

The girl stopped there, breathing hard. She'd tried her hardest to impress the man she wanted to help her, and she could see in his eyes that she had done what she'd set out to.

"You've got quite a lovely voice already, Joanna," Erik said after a long moment, "Where did you learn to sing?"

"Well, I was a chorus girl at the Opera Populaire, as I told you, but I'm involved now with a theater company funded by the viscomte. He visits often during rehearsals, and he's taken a particular liking to me," Joanna blushed as she spoke of Raoul. She'd felt him staring at her and she'd recognized that look in his eyes. She'd seen it in his eyes before, when he'd looked at Christine at the opera.

"Does Christine ever come to the rehearsals?" Erik asked, a little more eagerly than he intended to. Joanna frowned at the name and shook her head.

"No, of course not, are you daft? She doesn't even approve of the theater. She threw a fit when Raoul told her about it and managed to injure herself badly enough to keep him home taking care of her!" Joanna was practically snarling by the end of her little rant.

"What?" Erik asked, his voice small, almost child-like, "Christine's been injured? Is she all right? What did he do to her?" Joanna could see the anger in his eyes even as he seemed so scared.

"She's gonna be fine. I think he's going to bring her one night once the show opens. Which is in one week, so let's get on with this lesson."

"Patience, child," Erik snapped, glaring at her. Inside his mind, Erik was a tumultuous sea of emotion, his thoughts were racing so fast and so loud that he was certain he was about to lose his tenuous grasp on sanity once more. He lowered his head into his hands. "Sing it again, but this time I want to hear only your voice. I don't want to hear any of the background noise coming down the tunnels. Fill the space with your music."

Joanna opened her mouth to protest, but Erik raised one of his hands to stop her. "And I don't want to hear even one foul note. I've already got a headache."

"But I can't do that-"

"Then you are wasting my time and the time of anyone who would hear you sing," Erik snarled, glaring up at her. Joanna took a few steps back, her eyes wide in shock. "Well? You're on in a week. If you need the lessons so desperately as you claim, you best start practicing!"

The girl took a shaky breath and began singing, her voice immediately cracking. Erik chuckled darkly. "Can't even keep your nerve up, yet you're willing to play with fire."

Joanna closed her eyes tight and took another deep breath.

* * *

Christine took a long bath after Raoul finally left her alone. As she'd hurried down the hall to the bathroom, she could've sworn she heard Raoul crying in his bedroom. She felt no sympathy for him.

Once she was safely locked in the bathroom, she drew herself a nice hot bath and undressed herself, fighting the urge to look at herself in the mirror. She knew she wouldn't like whatever she saw there. Instead, she stepped into the tub and let herself sink into the nearly too-hot water.

_What am I to do,_ she thought as she lay there, letting the water scald her. She knew the water would cold before too long, so she told herself she could deal with the heat. It was the same thing she had begun to tell herself about Raoul. He would be calm again soon enough, so she could put up with the angry, violent outbursts. She had to, after all. The alternative… she shook her head, knowing that she couldn't leave him. She had nowhere to go, no money to fall back on.

She would rather endure abuse disguised as love than cast herself out on the streets, where she'd have to take up the same profession of the other women on the street. She shuddered at the thought.

* * *

Raoul sat at the edge of his bed for a long time in the dark, his elbows resting against his knees, his head in his hands. He couldn't believe what he'd done. He couldn't believe that he continued to make the same mistakes, continued to take out the same anger on his wife. She didn't deserve it, he knew that much. She deserved so much better than him. He wanted to be the man she deserved, he really did.

Maybe another time, months ago, he would've been able to give her what she needed. Now he felt ashamed to even occupy the same home as her.

Under any other circumstances, the quiet knock at his door would've gone unnoticed, but Raoul heard it and leapt from where he sat. "Yes?" he called as he strode over to open the door. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with Christine, wearing a dressing gown and a towel wrapped around her head. Before he could react, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hiding her face against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Raoul," she whispered, "Please, I just want us to go back to how we were. I don't want to fight you anymore. I can't take it."


	15. Chapter 15

Christine insisted that Raoul share her bed that night. As much as she feared him, she needed him close to her. He had protested, he had even tried to push her away when she'd gone to him after her bath, but she'd clung to him. She just wanted him to look at her with that love in his eyes again. If this was to be her life, she just wanted to know that her husband didn't hate her as much as it seemed he did.

He'd reluctantly agreed to crawl into bed with her, but once there he fell asleep easily, with Christine clinging to him like he would disappear into the night if she didn't hold on tightly enough. She, too, was eventually taken by sleep, though she slept far more fitfully than the man who was now too scared to touch her to even wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders.

* * *

Erik's method, though embarrassing, worked. After a few false starts, Joanna managed to make it through the entire song with only a couple of foul notes, which was better than he had expected. She sat a few feet from him once she'd finished and she looked at him expectantly.

"Not bad. Keep practicing and it's possible that you will be able to ensnare the heart of any man you choose, including the viscomte." Joanna grinned from ear to ear at Erik's words.

"Do you really mean it?" she asked. He nodded once. "Oh, I hope so. If only you could see the way he looks at me."

"I'm certain I know precisely how he looks at you," Erik assured her. He'd seen the look she described countless times in stolen glances between Christine and Raoul. He shook his head to force the memories of him staring at her that way from his mind. His thoughts lingered on the beauty that was Christine Daae, but in the end he forced those memories from his mind, too. "Tell me more about the viscomte and the theater. I want to know everything you know."

After the passion he'd inspired from her voice, Joanna couldn't refuse him. "Well, I know their marriage hasn't been happy as of late. He's been drinking a lot, she's been really reclusive…" As the girl spoke, a frantic cry rang out through the tunnel.

"Joanna!" The young girl called Emmalyn hollered as she ran through the crowd, dodging the others who were only just rejoining the group for the evening as she ran toward the girl and the phantom. "Joanna, Joanna you need to stay away from the viscomte, he's gone mad, absolutely mad!" the girl cried as she came to them.

Both Erik and Joanna looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. "What are you babbling on about now?" Joanna demanded, "Not another of your little stories."

"It's true! Joanna you've got to listen to me, he's bad news! I've just come from his house-"

"You lie," Joanna said, "You don't know where he lives."

"His is the house I have been working in," Emmalyn protested, "He's had me caring for his wife while she's been on the mend from her accident, but I don't think it really _was_ an accident, Joanna!"

"What?" Erik asked, his eyes flashing with anger. Emmalyn took a step back, glancing nervously at him. "You are employed by the Viscomte de Chagny?" he demanded. The girl nodded. "When I ask my next question, it is of the utmost importance that you answer me honestly and truthfully, can you do that?" The girl glanced at Joanna, then nodded again. "What has the viscomte done?"

"Monsieur, he came home while I was finishing tidying his wife's room, dusting and the like. He went to her while she was sleeping, I turned my back to them so as not to disturb their privacy, and the next thing I knew my lady let out a horrible shriek. By the time I had turned around, the viscomte had his wife by her injured wrist and was shouting all sorts of terrible things at her-" Emmalyn sobbed, unable to continue. Joanna stared at her, eyes wide, while a roar of frustration and anger worked its way up Erik's throat, echoing through the tunnels and once again causing a horrible silence to fall upon the crowd.

"I will kill that fool," he bellowed, "Mark my words, Raoul will not live to see another day once I'm on the surface." Joanna looked over at him, horrified. Just moments before he'd been encouraging her. Moments ago, encouraging her toward the viscomte had been the best option for him to ever even hope to have a chance with Christine again.

But now… Now everything had changed.

"That he dare raise a hand in anger to Christine, _my_ Christine," Erik continued, "I will see that he pay and pay dearly."

"You can't!" Joanna cried, but the phantom didn't hear her.

* * *

It was all that Raoul could do to separate himself from his wife in the morning. He wanted to simply go down to the kitchen and have some breakfast before he retreated to the theater for the day to avoid her, but her grip was too strong. He'd never felt her cling so hard to him. He didn't know what he would do when it came time for him to leave to go and spend his time at the theater. She seemed so desperate for his attention and he felt so guilty for the way he had treated her…

He managed to finally sneak down to the kitchen for breakfast, but Christine followed close behind him. She'd seemed almost lost as Raoul watched her walk past the kitchen looking for him. Her eyes were filled with such sadness, even when she discovered where he was she still seemed so sad. Like all the joy had been sucked out from her world.

_That was my doing,_ Raoul thought miserably,_ I've gone and made my wife give up on life. She deserves someone better. Anyone other than me._

"Raoul?" she asked quietly as she was served. He looked up from his own plate.

"Yes, Darling?" he asked.

"Must you go to the theater today? I've been so dreadfully lonely here. It would be lovely to spend some time with you." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. Raoul hesitated before answering.

"It's the final week of rehearsals, their first show opens in just six days now. I really must be there to ensure that everything goes smoothly."

Christine tensed up, her eyes filling with tears which she quickly tried to blink away. "Oh. All right, then," she said after a long pause. "I'm sorry, Raoul. Of course you must go. How silly of me."


	16. Chapter 16

She hadn't wanted to agree to do anything for Erik, but the crazy glint in his eye made her certain that if she didn't agree to help him she would not live to see the next day. So Joanna agreed that she would convince Philippe to allow Erik to go to the surface with her the day of the first performance. He could see her sing, and then he could find the viscomte and exact his revenge for Christine. Of course, Joanna knew it was wishful thinking that he would attend the performance before ending the life of the man she was in love with, but she had to hold on to hope that she'd be able to warn the viscomte before Erik had a chance to exact his revenge.

* * *

Emmalyn didn't want to go back to her job. After seeing the viscomte so vicious with his wife, she didn't want to be anywhere near him. He frightened her, more than the man in the mask did. But Erik needed something he could wear to the surface, and the only way that she knew she could help would be to steal clothing from the viscomte. She didn't want to do it, but the pleading look in his eyes as he asked her to help him… She couldn't say no. Despite how passionately he'd spoken of wanting to tear the viscomte limb from limb, there was something terribly sad about him.

* * *

It was midday when Christine first felt that something was wrong. She'd woken up with a back ache, but she'd figured that was from all the commotion the night before. She'd decided that perhaps a nap would help, and got up from where she sat in the front room. As she was heading for the stairs, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her and she had to lean against the wall to keep herself from falling to the ground. The intensity with which she hit the wall caused searing pain to radiate from her wrist, which in turn seemed to make the back pain worse.

It took her what seemed an eternity to ascend the stairs, even after Emmalyn finally arrived- more than two hours after she was meant to be there- and helped her, it was all Christine could do to stay on her feet.

"I'm sorry," she said as Emmalyn helped her into bed, "I know this isn't part of your job, you're quite sweet to help me." The young girl shook her head, smiling sweetly.

"It's my pleasure," Emmalyn replied, "Your husband contracted me to help you however you need help, and it is my intention to do exactly that." She even tucked Christine in and drew the curtains closed so she could nap in peace.

For a little over an hour, Christine tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position and failing horribly. It was only when she rolled over again and felt something wet and sticky against her leg that she realized what precisely was wrong.

The scream that tore from her lips was one that shook the windows.

"No," she begged, sitting up and throwing the blankets across the bed, uncovering herself and looking between her legs, finding a large red stain, "No! Please no, no!" Her hands flew to her stomach, where it felt like her insides were at war. She hadn't thought anything of it when she hadn't bled recently, spending her younger years as a dancer it had never been a monthly occurrence for her.

She knew this was different. There was just so much, so quickly. And oh the pain! Christine crossed her arms across her stomach tightly as it felt like something was being ripped from her. "Help me," she sobbed, "somebody please help me!" Emmalyn appeared in the doorway seconds after she'd heard her lady scream, but she froze when she saw her sitting there like that. Christine didn't even notice the girl staring.

Christine cried out as the pain worsened, hot tears streaming down her face. She stared straight ahead and saw nothing. _I deserve this_, she told herself, _this is all my fault, if I had just been a better wife, if I could just be more understanding of my husband…_ She fell over across the bed, still clutching her stomach, sobbing loudly as she mourned the loss of the baby she hadn't even been aware of.

* * *

Deep in the catacombs, Erik's services as resident assassin had been requested once more, and Philippe himself was the one to lead him. For the most part, communications between the two men was monosyllabic and nearly entirely made up of grunting, but as they put some distance between themselves and the group, Philippe glanced over at the man in the mask.

"I misjudged you that night," he said. Erik looked over at him. "I didn't think you'd last a week. I was wrong. I… I apologize."

"If you want the truth monsieur," Erik replied, "I didn't think I would last much more than a day. My continued existence has been a surprise to me since I escaped the mob."

"It's amazing the lengths to which our bodies are willing to go in order to keep us alive. When I first came down here, I was cold, I was hungry, and I was half dead. When Céleste found me, I am sure I looked as skeletal as you when we discovered you. It was her idea to band together with the others. In only a few short years we have grown from just two to the size that we are now."

"It is truly a good thing you do. I thank you for your kindness," Erik replied.

They came to a stop at a fork in the tunnel. "Erik," the other man said, "I need you to do something for me." The masked man looked over at him expectantly. "I need you to kill me."

"I can't do that," Erik replied, his eyes wide. The rest of the group would kill _him_ if he did that. But still, he could see the pain in the man's eyes. In the light from the torch, he could see the man's sallow, waxy skin and the pain in his eyes.

"Please," Philippe said, "I would prefer to go on my own terms, I have been in such pain for so long and I know I am not long for this earth." When the masked man didn't move, he continued, "Nobody has to know what has happened. You can say that I was pushed down the access ladder over there." He gestured to his left with the lantern. "We were ambushed, I was pushed, you gave chase but they disappeared before you could find them. Céleste knows of my plan and will ensure your safety."

Erik sighed, but he slowly pulled the lasso from where it hung at his side.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: I APOLOGIZE FOR THE SHORTNESS OF THIS CHAPTER, BUT THE NEXT FEW ARE GOING TO BE REALLY, REALLY VERY LONG. LOTS OF STUFF IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. **

**ALSO THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! I AM SO THRILLED THAT PEOPLE ARE ENJOYING "SOMETHING TO SING ABOUT."**

* * *

Raoul left the theater with a song in his heart and Josephine's name on his lips. She truly was a thing of beauty, just as his wife was. _Perhaps_, he thought, _after this show has finished…_ He couldn't finish the thought. It took him down a path he didn't want to go down- one that ended in his divorce from Christine. Even though she deserved so much better than the hell he had given her to live in these last few weeks, he couldn't stand the idea of being separated from her like that.

He did still love her. He just had an odd way of showing it. As he climbed into his carriage, he silently vowed to be a better husband.

He had no idea what hell he was approaching as he returned home.

* * *

Philippe had been easier to kill than Erik had thought. He was so sure it would be a trap, that someone would come rushing at him from the shadows and end _his_ life, but no such thing happened. The man struggled weakly, but in the end Erik's lasso always won. The hardest part of it all was dragging him to the ladder and tossing him down into the dark. The sound of the man's skull cracking against the floor so many levels below rang in his ears, and for once the sound of death made him sick to his stomach.

He'd done the man a service, one he'd expected Philippe to have done that very first night they'd met. Even knowing that he'd saved the man what would've likely been a long and painful death, he couldn't help wondering if he'd done the right thing.

It was a long walk back to the group, made even longer when Erik realized that he didn't look like he'd been attacked. It wouldn't be as believable if he looked unharmed, so to avoid raising any further suspicion when he returned, he threw himself against the wall a few times and tore the shoulder of his shirt wide open to make it all look more convincing.

Nobody seemed to notice that he returned alone, save for Céleste, who simply nodded knowingly at him as he made his way through the crowd. Of all the possible reactions they could've had, complete indifference had been the one he hadn't prepared for. He wondered if they'd known what the men were truly going off to do when they'd left.

He knew it would be a long while before Emmalyn or Joanna returned, so he returned to his same spot that he'd all but completely claimed as his own and sat, back to the wall, eyes closed. He didn't intend to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake quite roughly.

* * *

After the pain finally ceased, Christine sat on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest as she rocked back and forth, staring at the blood that covered her hands. She felt horribly dirty. On top of that, she felt like she was a murderer. Whether it had been because of the half bottle of wine she'd downed on her own, or the stress of life with Raoul, or even just the pitiful lonely existence she suffered through, she was certain it was her fault.

"Please, Madame de Chagny," Emmalyn pleaded, "I've drawn you a bath, we really need to get you cleaned up. The viscomte will be home soon, you don't want him to see you all covered in… blood… do you?"

"Leave me alone," Christine whimpered, "please just leave me alone."

Emmalyn shifted nervously, then decided to try one last tactic. She knelt down next to Christine, hesitating for a moment before wrapping her arm around the woman's back. It took a little effort, but the young girl managed to pull Christine up to her feet. "C'mon, up you get. A nice bath will help you feel all better."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Sorry, these updates are going to get a little bit less frequent for a little while. I will still try to upload at least 2-3 chapters per week moving forward. Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys! I really appreciate it. **

* * *

Raoul took a deep breath before he walked into his home. "Christine?" he called. No answer. "Christine?" he repeated. Still no answer. His heart leapt into his throat and he immediately thought the worst. She'd been so emotionally fragile, it wouldn't be so much of a jump to think that she would do something rash.

He tore up the stairs but stopped short when he reached the doorway to their bedroom. There was so much blood. "Christine? Christine!" Raoul cried. He looked all through the room, but she wasn't there. It was only then that he noticed the bloody footprints leading to the bathroom. He threw open the door, preparing himself for the worst.

But what he found was Emmalyn helping Christine out of the bathtub, wrapping her in a towel. His wife looked horribly pale, her face blank but her eyes filled with sorrow.

* * *

When Erik opened his eyes, he found Joanna's face just inches from his own, her eyes filled with rage. "You really are stupid, you know that?" she hissed once she knew he was awake, "We've got to get you out of here _tonight_ before people realize what you've done to Philippe! You idiot!"

"But he told Céleste!" Erik blurted stupidly. Joanna shook her head, frowning at him.

"Are you really that thick? A disfigured genius, indeed," she said, rolling her eyes. "You believed him? He's been trying to find someone willing to kill him for ages. He knew it would cause a riot. If we don't get you out tonight you'll be killed."

Erik's heart dropped. He wasn't ready to go to the surface. He longed to see Christine again, but he still needed time to prepare himself. He couldn't face her this way and he had no other place to go.

"It's a good thing I had my nerve up," Joanna continued, pulling a scarf from a fold in her dress, "They were finishing our wig fittings today and I saw one that looked about your size. It wasn't reserved for anyone and I don't think it will be missed." She handed it to the Phantom, who looked quite distraught. He slowly opened the scarf and found a dark auburn-brown wig that reminded him quite a lot of the wig he had when he still lived below the opera house. "Well, go on," Joanna urged, "try it on. Let's see how it fits. I think I can pin it for you if it's too big."

Erik hesitated, not entirely willing to remove his mask even though they'd all seen him without it. Nobody but Joanna was paying any attention, but it still made him incredibly uncomfortable to even consider it. When it became apparent through the awkward silence that hung heavily in the air that Joanna wasn't going to turn and allow him a moment of privacy, Erik twisted himself so that the deformed half of his face was obscured by shadow and the wall he sat against.

He removed the mask quickly and pulled the wig onto his head, amazed that Joanna had been able to guess the proper size for him just by looking. It was slightly too big, with his mask on nobody would notice. He put his mask back on and, for the first time since that fateful night, he felt like himself again. He turned back to Joanna, who was grinning from ear to ear. "It suits you. Here's hoping that Em was able to find something the viscomte won't miss. I'm going to go and talk to Louis. He might believe me if I tell him you've got permission."

"What am I to do?" Erik asked.

"Just don't draw attention to yourself. We'll get this figured out."

* * *

Raoul begged answers of her, but Christine couldn't say a word, even if she wanted to. There was no voice left in her. She just stared into her husband's eyes, tears welling in her own, and shook her head.

"I don't know for sure, monsieur," Emmalyn said, beckoning the viscomte out of the bathroom momentarily, "But there was an awful lot of blood, was she… was she with child, monsieur?"

Raoul staggered backward and had to catch himself against the railing at the top of the stairs. "I… I don't know. We were having trouble conceiving- oh Christine, no," he cried. "What have I done?"

"You really should be with her," Emmalyn told him, "Please. She needs you. Just be with her."

"I can't, oh this is all my fault. How could she even look at me now? I've caused her such suffering. She deserves so much better than I can give her."

"Just be there for her. Be gentle with her. And leave things at the theater alone until opening night. Just stay here with her. She deserves that much from you."

* * *

Louis must've believed whatever Joanna told him, because when she led Erik through the tunnel to where they could reach the surface, they faced no resistance. "Emmalyn should be here by now," Joanna said when they had climbed out of the catacombs and into a darkened alleyway. "I hope nothing's happened to her."

"What happened to who?" Emmalyn's voice broke through the silence, and Joanna breathed a sigh of relief.

"Nothing. Well, something, but I'll tell you later. For now we have to get monsieur le Phantom somewhere safe. He did something incredibly stupid. Did you manage to find something that will be of use to him?" Erik scowled at Joanna through the darkness, but she just gave a smug smile.

"The viscomte's at least two sizes bigger than you, monsieur, but with the suspenders you should at least be able to pretend like your pants fit. There wasn't a hat, but I did find some gloves." The small girl produced a satchel that Erik recognized immediately. It was old and faded, but it was a bag he'd seen Christine use countless times as she carried her things to and from the opera house. He was loathe to touch it with his dirty, shaking hands, but he enjoyed the soft fabric against his fingers.


	19. Chapter 19

Christine and Raoul slept in his tiny bed that night, even though the linens had been changed and the mattress flipped. Christine had broken down sobbing before Raoul managed to get her within three feet of the door. So they huddled together in his room. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, and it seemed to ease her mind just a bit. It didn't help when they heard a girl screaming just out on the street. Raoul wanted to get up and make sure that whoever was out there was all right, but he didn't want to let Christine go. She was allowing him to hold her, and he was being selfish.

She cried most of the night, falling asleep only as the sky began to lighten. Raoul was content to lie there with her as she finally slept, curled up against his chest. He didn't feel that he deserved the ability to hold her that way, but he was glad to do it. She slept fitfully, whining and crying out every so often. When she did, Raoul smoothed her hair back and hugged her tightly. It seemed to ward off whatever dreams were robbing her of the ability to sleep peacefully, even if only for a few moments.

* * *

In the night, Joanna and Erik stole through alleys and less-busy streets on their way to a house where Joanna had once found kindness. They stopped only once, to drop Erik's old clothes over a bridge and into the river. Joanna had protested, but Erik wouldn't throw Christine's old bag with his clothes. For a man who could kill without a thought, he was oddly sentimental. He hid the bag in the back of his shirt, the edge tucked into his pants. He kept the punjab lasso hidden beneath his coat, which was thankfully at least two sizes too big.

"You're so much more trouble than you're worth. How did Christine put up with having you as her angel of music?" Joanna asked as they started down a street that was all too familiar for Joanna. When she walked around as Josephine, she often followed the viscomte back to his home. They were only two houses away. She only wanted to walk past, maybe see him through the windows, reading a book or talking to _her_.

As kind as she knew Christine to be through what both Raoul and Erik had told her, she couldn't help but hate the woman who held the heart of the man she lusted for.

"Don't you think that information's just a little bit important? You know, a little 'oh hi, thanks for joining our group, our leader's a bit suicidal, please don't kill him if you want to live to see another day' would've been nice!"

"So you think we should have a disclaimer? Please don't kill people?" Joanna hollered, turning around to face him. She looked positively disgusted. "What the hell kind of people need to be told _not_ to kill?" He shook, glancing nervously all around at the darkened windows of those already asleep who might wake to her screaming.

"Please, keep your voice down," he pleaded, "I'm a wanted man, Joanna."

"Then come on and keep quiet," she said with a sigh, and after glaring at him for a moment longer, she turned around and they continued on. Thankfully, none of the windows they passed were lit up. She hadn't woken anyone with her hollering. Erik could breathe a little more easily.

Joanna looked up at the darkened house where she knew the viscomte lived, pausing just a moment as she did. Not a single sign of life to be seen. She could hardly believe that everyone in the household was asleep already, but from how spooked Emmalyn had been, she knew something bad must've happened. She was thankful that Erik didn't have the same ability to read Emmalyn's face and voice that Joanna possessed. She'd been able to whisk the phantom out of that dark alleyway before Emmalyn had the chance to say something that would only make everything a whole lot worse.

The house they were aiming for was only four houses down from where Raoul and Christine lay sleeping or attempting to sleep, though Erik didn't know it. Joanna prayed that the man would be too afraid of frightening anyone to leave before the next night at earliest, assuming that Joanna was able to secure him a safe place to sleep that night. "You stay quiet, you keep your head down and your face hidden. Don't let them see the monster you actually are," Joanna instructed as they approached the door.

Erik opened his mouth to protest, but Joanna shot him a look that told him all he needed to know. She hadn't been telling him to keep his face hidden. That was too simple. He knew that. She was telling him to hide the monster within.

She knocked on the door as he adjusted his mask. When the door opened, Erik found himself faced with a tottering old woman who came up to his hip and seemed to have a cane glued to her hand. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Marie?" Joanna said quietly, "Do you remember me madame?"

"That can't be little Josephine, can it?" the lady asked, her voice breathy and shaking. Erik looked down at the girl who stood next to him, who nodded excitedly.

"Yes, madame. I hate to call on you so late in the evening, but I am really quite desperate. You see my friend here?" Joanna gestured to Erik, who slowly shifted his gaze back to the elderly woman, "He's in kind of a bad way. He's not dangerous, but he is in trouble, and it would be really helpful if you could give him a place to hide for a couple of days?"

The old woman shifted herself slowly so that she was facing Erik, and she leaned backward in order to look up into his face. Despite his mask, he felt suddenly and horribly naked. The woman seemed that she was staring straight into his soul. "He will only be with me for three days," she said as she peered up into his face.

"So you will take him in?" Joanna asked. The woman nodded and motioned for them both to follow her into the house.

* * *

When Christine woke, the first thing she noticed was the sunlight that filled the room. Then she noticed the warm, strong arms that were wrapped around her. Finally she remembered the horrible pain and emptiness. Within minutes of waking up, she was crying again, covering her face with her arms as she mourned the child that could have been.

Raoul pulled her closer to him and kissed the side of her head sleepily. He had been dozing off every so often while he held her, and the shock of her body shaking as she sobbed had pulled him out of a strange and beautiful dream he could only remember the faintest outlines of now.

"Darling, it's all right," he purred, resting his cheek against the back of her head, "It's all going to be all right. I love you. We'll get through this together. You just let it all out now, okay?"

Christine was shocked with how gentle he was being. It was a side of her husband that she hadn't seen in months. It took her a little longer to realize that his words meant that he knew what had happened. This made her sob harder. Everything from the past day and a half was an utter blur for her, and it terrified her that she didn't know what had been a dream and what had been real.


	20. Chapter 20

Raoul finally managed to get Christine out of bed as night fell, and he even somehow convinced her to walk downstairs with him and sit at the table, but she wouldn't even look at the soup that he placed in front of her. "Please, Christine," he begged after he took a slow sip of his own soup, "you must eat _something_. I can't stand to see you in such pain."

Christine said nothing, but made a show of pushing the bowl across the table and away from her with one shaking hand. Raoul sighed, and for a moment he considered crossing the room and forcing her to eat, but he knew that would accomplish nothing, save for probably making her fear him again.

"Would you prefer something else?" he asked, "There's chicken sandwiches that were meant for our lunch, or I think we might be able to find some fruit leftover from breakfast…"

Christine stared at the table, tears welling in her eyes again. Raoul tried to stifle his groan as he turned his attention back to his soup. _How am I supposed to help her if she won't let me in?_ he wondered.

* * *

Just a few houses down, Erik woke from a fitful sleep. Too much light filtered through the thin curtains in the room Marie was kind enough to allow him to use. He'd intended to sleep all day, but the room was too warm and too light. He found that the only way he could find a space dark enough was to sleep under the bed with the spiders and dust. For the first time in ages, he afforded himself a few hours without his mask, cringing at the strange feeling of air against the skin of his disfigurement.

He could see that the sky was beginning to darken as he pulled himself out from under the bed. It had not been a comfortable sleep, but it was all he could manage. It wasn't like he would've been able to take to sleeping in a bed again right away anyway. It wasn't until he was to his knees that he realized he wasn't alone. It took him a moment longer to realize that he hadn't yet put his mask back on. He quickly turned and looked away from the girl, who stood staring at him but trying not to.

Joanna had nearly forgotten that Erik wasn't _normal._ She'd grown so used to the mask that she'd forgotten the monstrous way that he really looked. She silently cursed herself for staring, and she turned and looked at the doorframe as soon as she could pull her gaze away, affording him a few moments to put his mask back on.

When she decided to glance back at him again, he was leaning against the bed, pushing himself to his feet. His joints were a chorus of pops and snaps, and it made Joanna wonder how he'd managed to cover any distance at all the night before. It was hard for her to look at him and see a frail man, even though that was what he had been when she'd saved his life. It seemed so long ago, that night when she'd stood up for him to Philippe.

"I'm not gonna be back for a couple days. Marie isn't gonna tell anyone you're here. She'll mostly let you keep to yourself. Dinner's the only meal she's going to provide, but she's a good cook and will provide you with good company," the girl said, refusing to meet his eyes. Erik nodded. "I really want you to be nice to her, okay? She doesn't have to take you in, you know. She's turned people down before."

"I understand. Thank you for helping me, Joanna. I am eternally in your debt." The girl's finger flew to her lips.

"Erik," she said, pausing when she saw him flinch upon her use of his name, "I need to ask that from now on you refer to me as Josephine. That is my real name. I started using Joanna when I moved below ground. It was a necessity, and now it is essential that you forget that you ever knew me as Joanna."

"If that is what must happen, then I will only refer to you as Josephine from now on," Erik replied, nodding his head slightly. As much as she infuriated him, the girl had been quite helpful to him. without her, he would very likely have died long before even learning of Christine's life after him with Raoul. Without her he would have been blissfully ignorant of the abuse that his perfect, beautiful angel was suffering at the hands of the man who had begged for her freedom.

The girl seemed pleased with his response, and she did a quick twirl in the doorway. "How do I look? I'm so nervous. Tonight's the final dress rehearsal before we open officially. We've got like six performances before the actual opening night-"

"Sing the way you did in the tunnel that day and you will have all eyes on you. You will shine, Joan- Josephine. You've got the voice. If you continue to practice you might one day be loved by many," Erik said. Joanna smiled, her face momentarily that of the child she really was.

"You mean it?" she asked eagerly. It saddened Erik to see how very little she honestly thought of herself. There was a fire burning in her eyes, fresh and just a spark. He knew what he needed to do. Erik was always one to fan the flames of passion. The girl was a good singer. He had heard very few voices like hers, and it was true that he thought she had potential.

"Yes," he said. The girl threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Oh thank you, monsieur," she said as she pulled away. She knew that her cheeks were pink, embarrassed for suddenly having flung herself at him. She wasn't completely shocked to see that his visible cheek was quite pink as well. "I will sing with all my heart."

* * *

Christine was thankful for the moments alone when Raoul stepped away from where they had been sitting in the lounge to speak to a visitor. One of the managers from his theater from what Christine could hear, not that she particularly cared. She didn't want to be involved in his theater. She didn't want him involved with the girl that had come with his little theater.

Christine knew that their baby's death had been her fault, but she couldn't help but think it was at least a little bit the fault of Raoul's little mistress. She wasn't normally one to have violent thoughts, but in the silence of Raoul's brief absence, when she closed her eyes, she could picture herself wrapping her hands around the throat of a faceless chorus girl.


	21. Chapter 21

Josephine was disappointed, but not surprised, when the viscomte didn't come to their final dress rehearsal. She knew that something horrible had happened with Christine and that he needed to be there for her, but she couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. By all accounts, he was tired of her. He didn't want to deal with her anymore. Yet he stayed at her side. Yet he continued to show support for her even though she showed no support for him. She couldn't understand what he could possibly still see in Christine Daae.

Then again, she couldn't see what Erik saw in her, either. From all he'd told her, she'd brought him nothing but pain. Her only redeeming quality, in Josephine's eyes, was that she had impeccable taste in men.

Josephine was nervous when it came time for her to take the stage alone and sing her solo, an aria that made her want to cry. It was so sad. She used her emotions to fuel her wavering voice, and when she began to feel like she couldn't do it, she remembered the Phantom laughing at her that afternoon, dismissing her. Telling her to stop wasting his time.

And her voice came back to her with such a force that it nearly knocked her off her feet. She powered through the second half, holding the final note for so long that she began to see spots and feel faint. The wings thundered with applause as the rest of the cast lauded her for her performance.

She finished the rehearsal with the same strong voice, but she was utterly spent by the time she sang her final note. She didn't know how she was going to manage doing that more than once, but her angel of music had told her she could, and so she had to try.

After she was given her notes and everyone was told when to be back in the morning, she hurried back down to the catacombs, desperate to talk to Emmalyn. she had to know what Raoul was going to be up against. She wanted to be able to warn him.

* * *

That second night, Christine slept a little better, and they both had a bit more room, because they moved back into the master bedroom. Raoul didn't know what magic their maids had needed to work to clean up so much blood, but it was nearly impossible to tell that anything had happened.

Christine clung to him in the same way she had the night before, but she slept more easily and she didn't have as many night terrors. Raoul actually managed to sleep fairly well, his chin rested lightly against the top of her head. He'd forgotten how soft she was.

When Raoul woke in the morning, Christine was gone.

* * *

Erik tried dutifully to be polite and thankful. He was out of his element entirely when it came to the dynamics of a real home. Marie seemed to run a boarding house of sorts, and there were four other people staying in her home at the same time as him. At dinner, he stole glances at a few of his current housemates. Most of them were young women, but one was another man, possibly his same age. He seemed to be rather attached to one of the young ladies, and he figured that they were probably related somehow. At least, that's what Erik hoped.

He didn't want to make Josephine angry.

Dinner that first night was enormous. Erik had never seen so much food prepared for only six people. He ate until his stomach ached, and he casually slipped a few rolls into his pocket for later. Everyone else who arrived for the meal gave him looks of distrust, but none of them asked him anything. He was grateful to not have to speak except when Marie asked him if he wanted more bread.

After dinner, Erik thanked Marie for the meal and went back up to his room. He intended to make full use of the darkness and get some sleep. This time he slept on the bed, and he kept his mask firmly in place. He didn't want to be caught by surprise again.

The bed was a luxury he had missed terribly. At first, the softness of the mattress and blankets hurt his bones, which were used to rocks and concrete. As he tossed and turned, however, he managed to wedge himself into a good spot where only his head hurt, but he had been aware of the headache for far longer than he'd been trying to fall asleep. He was able to ignore it and soon he found himself dreaming of the opera, of watching in the wings as Christine danced and sang.

* * *

Christine crept out of their bed while Raoul still slept. She stood before her vanity for a moment, brushing her hair and fixing her dressing gown so that it covered her properly, and then she hurried out of the room, listening to Raoul snore as he shifted positions. She hoped he wouldn't be too upset when he found her gone in the morning. She draped a light green cloak over her shoulders to hide the fact that she didn't feel up to putting on proper clothing.

Once she was out the door, it was just a matter of climbing into a carriage and handing the coachman a slip of paper detailing where she wanted to go. It was a simple request, one she had made countless times before. She wished to go to the cemetery. She needed to mourn for her angel and for her father.


	22. Chapter 22

Erik woke when sunlight began to stream through his window. He was still having issues trying to adjust to how bright everything was on the surface. The first few hours of sunlight and noon were the worst times for his eyes. He was so used to everything being dim that he could hardly see when he opened his eyes upon waking. He almost rolled out of bed and onto the floor, but he managed to stop himself, shielding his eyes with his arms.

He wondered if Christine was able to enjoy the sunlight. He knew that she enjoyed beautiful days outside, he knew that she loved the sunlight. He wished that he could be outside with her. He wished that he hadn't been born as ugly as he was. He knew he didn't stand an outside chance at winning her over, but he knew at least he could protect her from those who would continue to harm her otherwise.

Even though Josephine seemed so focused on winning Raoul's heart, Erik wouldn't be able to allow the man to live. Anyone who would harm true beauty didn't deserve to continue to walk the same earth as anyone such as Christine. Erik was hardly worthy of breathing her same air, Raoul was most certainly not.

Erik knew that he had to make the man suffer for how he had made Christine suffer. Someone as kind and gentle as Christine could never deserve what he'd done. Erik would've killed himself before ever laying a hand on her in such a way.

* * *

Christine knelt in front of her father's grave for a long time, begging her angel of music to sing to her once more. Last time she'd come to seek guidance from her father, her angel had appeared to her. Maybe, if she wished hard enough, he would appear to her again. She would know what to do. He would help her.

So she waited. She waited as tears welled in her eyes, as they dripped down her cheeks, as they dried on her lips. In the end, Christine was met with only silence, and it was devastating. She hadn't particularly been expecting her angel to appear. The man who had been her angel was long since dead. Even if he were still around, if he were truly a ghost now, he wouldn't have been hanging around her father's grave. He would be at the opera house._ His_ opera house.

Christine let out two incredible sobs before forcing herself to her feet and walking slowly back to the carriage. The sun was high in the sky when she paid the coachman and walked back into the house, straight into Raoul's waiting and worried arms.

"Where on earth have you been?" he demanded, holding her close for a moment before pushing her away so he could get a good look at her. She shook her head and sighed. "You just disappeared, I was worried sick! Christine, where did you go?"

Christine rolled her eyes and looked away. He knew that she couldn't speak. Her voice eluded her, and she wasn't particularly interested in it ever coming back. Her voice had brought her nothing but trouble ever since she was little and first met Raoul. She wished she'd never spoken to him. How different her life might've been had she never met the viscomte.

"I'm not angry," Raoul said after a long moment. Christine could hear in his voice that it was a lie. He wanted very badly to hit her right then. She was expecting a hard slap to the face. It wouldn't hurt at all compared to how she felt inside.

But the smack she anticipated never came. Instead, Raoul held her shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss into her hairline. She stared up at him, confused, as he pulled her into another hug.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I- This is all my fault. Of course, I shouldn't demand to know where you go. I've never once been truthful to you about where I've gone. I shouldn't expect the truth from you. It was foolish of me. Forgive me, darling?"

She shrugged. She didn't want to commit to forgiving him completely. He had truly hurt her, and she didn't want to just forgive and forget that he had basically gone out and replaced her instead of spending the time he should've with his new wife. Instead of working on their marriage, he'd gone out and bought a theater. Instead of trying to get her pregnant, he'd spent all of his time drinking or helping with the theater. Christine felt more than just a little bitter for that. She'd blamed herself for so long that it felt strange- and good- to finally pass some of that blame off to other people.

"I understand. I won't stop trying to make it up to you until you can forgive me, Christine. I will do everything in my power to prove my love to you."

_Good_, thought Christine. She didn't believe a word he said though. Raoul didn't seem to enjoy the fact that she still wouldn't speak, still _couldn't_ speak. He scowled at her, but that was as far as he went with the anger he felt. She was home, she was safe, and those were the only two things that mattered to the viscomte.

* * *

Josephine sang her heart out at the first two real performances of their show, and even received a standing ovation for her big solo during one performance. She couldn't stop smiling after that, even when she realized that Raoul still hadn't seen her perform. She wanted nothing more than for the viscomte to watch her perform. She wanted to seduce him with a song. She wanted to prove that she was worthy of him, that he should ditch Christine.

But if what Emmalyn had told her was true, she was beginning to doubt whether he would come to see the show at all.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Um. Yeah. I apologize, this isn't the strongest chapter I've produced. But... Fluff? Yes. Fluff is good, right? Again, thank you so much for reading and reviewing, guys. I'm so glad you're enjoying my story.**

* * *

As they got ready for lunch after Christine's trip to the cemetery, Raoul found himself on the receiving end of an unexpected kiss from his wife. He positively melted at the touch, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his lap. He had been sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling a fresh pair of trousers on.

Christine had been applying a small amount of makeup. She didn't like how disheveled she'd looked when she'd finally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Now, however, she felt almost pretty. She didn't want to waste the feeling, and so she found herself in her husband's lap, kissing him hungrily. For a moment, just a moment, she was able to forget herself, forget all the bad things and the sad things that had happened since they were just two young fools in love at the opera. She opened her eyes just enough to see her husband's face. He looked so tense and she could feel aggression in his kisses and in the way that he held her body.

She shoved him down, pinning him to the bed. The utter confusion in his movements made Christine feel powerful, as did the way he clung to her, shifting beneath her. She slowly pulled her lips away from his, watching his reaction as she put maybe six inches between their faces.

Raoul opened his eyes and ran his hands through her hair before he pulled her back down, kissing her with such passion that for a moment, all was forgiven between the two of them. She ran her hands through his hair, grabbing a fistful as she bit his lip. That was all Raoul needed. Before Christine had any idea what was going on, he had rolled her onto her back, her hands pinned above her head.

The noises that escaped Christine's throat that evening were raw and real, and for the first time in months Raoul felt worthy of the affection she showed him.

* * *

Just a few houses down, Erik was avoiding questions from the youngest person currently living with Marie. The child had to have been the most curious creature Erik had ever encountered. Every little movement brought a new question. It seemed he couldn't breathe without being asked something.

"Monsieur, are you absolutely certain you need to wear the mask though? Have you ever tried not wearing the mask?" the child asked as Erik tried to serve himself some vegetables.

"I am not removing my mask," Erik replied tersely, glaring at the child's parents, who said nothing. "I would prefer it if you would stop asking me questions about it."

"But monsieur-"

"Enough!" Erik's voice echoed through the dining room, ceasing the other, much quieter conversations that were going on. He could feel everyone's eyes on him as he sunk back into his chair, embarrassed. Marie glared at him, but continued to help serve the younger ones gathered at her table. Erik ate his meal slowly, avoiding looking at anybody as he did. As he headed back to the room he'd been provided, a familiar young girl came in through the front door.

Josephine looked positively ecstatic. Her eyes were about half closed, her smile nearly touched both ears. Her hair was a mess, and it didn't look like anything could diminish that smile. Erik knew precisely what could cause her to look that way.

"Was it everything you dreamed?" he asked as she joined him on the stairs. She nodded.

"I've never had so many people all staring at me, listening to me," the girl replied dreamily, "I was so nervous, but I gave it my all. There's still two performances for small crowds before opening night. I'm only singing the lead for one of them, though. They're giving another girl a chance just in case something happens to me."

She looked a bit disappointed as she told him that last bit.

"Even the best singers have understudies," he replied, "Certainly you don't want them to have to cancel should you find yourself incapacitated?" The girl shook her head.

"Of course," she said, "I want the show to be successful. But I also want to sing. I want all eyes on me, monsieur, it is why I continue to perform."

* * *

Raoul and Christine actually left the house together after dinner and a romp in the sheets. She clung to his arm as they walked through the city, pausing occasionally to watch street performers. Christine knew that it wouldn't last. They would have maybe two more outings together and then Raoul would revert to the sullen drunk he'd been. Still, for the first time since she'd lost their child, she felt sure of herself.

On their way back to their home, they stopped and Raoul purchased a single red rose for his wife. She took it from him and sniffed it, shyly allowing it to linger near her nose, allowing the soft petals to touch her lips. As she looked up into Raoul's eyes, she could've sworn she saw a black figure watching them from a window. When she managed to look past Raoul, she found the figure was gone.

* * *

He had seen her. It had to be her, and that meant that the foolish man she clung to was the Viscomte de Chagny. Erik's heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of his chest. At last, after so many months of starvation and darkness, he had seen the light again. Watching them walk down the street, it was as though he'd never seen the world before. The colors seemed more vibrant, lights were brighter and shadows were darker.

He had to fight the urge to go running after them.


	24. Chapter 24

Erik couldn't sleep his last night in Marie's home. He'd seen Christine. She was nearby, she _had_ to be nearby, they'd been out walking. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to ring the viscomte's neck. Josephine promised him four times before she retired to her own room that she would bring him out the next day. Marie didn't want him hanging around much longer anyway.

So Erik tried to sleep, but he found himself spending the time watching the moon float slowly across the sky. After no less than five sleepless hours, Erik stood and dressed himself. Josephine had brought him new clothing. Two fresh outfits and a proper bag to carry his things in. She would take the bag from him when they went to the theater the next day, and she would stash it for him until he was ready to leave.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, the pale moonlight just bright enough for him to see. This suit was a far better fit. He didn't feel like he was swimming in it as he had in the viscomte's clothing. He fully intended on keeping the viscomte's clothing, as he fully intended on keeping the viscomte's wife. Soon, he vowed, the viscomte's world would come crashing down around him.

For now, Erik needed to get out of the house. He crept silently down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door into the cool Paris night.

There were only a few other occasional pedestrians at this hour. For that, Erik was extremely thankful. The last thing he wanted was to try to move about in a crowd. He just needed some air.

Not intending to go far, he turned and walked the same direction he'd seen Christine and Raoul go. It wasn't long before he recognized the house that Josephine had stopped briefly in front of that night when she'd taken him from the catacombs. In the dark of the night, Erik stood and stared up at their dark house. In one of those rooms his Christine lay sleeping. He forced himself not to continue the thought, to think of how she slept wrapped up in _his_ arms. He balled his hands into fists and turned away from their home to continue walking.

He couldn't stand thinking of the viscomte or how lucky that man was. And thinking of either of those things made him angry. He needed release.

As he rounded the corner at the end of the street, he was gifted with a release. It was practically gift-wrapped for him. Two young men, possibly younger even than Christine or Raoul, were beating on a poor homeless woman who was in such a state of undress that it was clear to Erik that something foul had just occurred prior to this horrible misdeed.

The rope was off his hip in less time than it took him to cross the street and let out a snarl of anger.

"You would raise your hand against a woman, monsieur?" he hissed as he slipped the lasso around the first man's neck. Erik was a bit disappointed with him; he panicked immediately and snapped his own neck when he tripped trying to escape. His partner, who had the good sense to run, proved to be a far better challenge. And that was precisely what Erik was looking for that evening.

* * *

Christine woke when she hit the floor, hard. Her eyes snapped open, and she was immediately ready to try to defend herself. The attack she anticipated came as quickly as expected, and she threw her arms across her face to shield herself from how Raoul reached for her. "What- Raoul stop!" she cried as he pulled the belt from the pants he'd been wearing that night. "Raoul- No!" The leather hit her in the arm, leaving a white welt that stung horribly.

"Always with your _angel_," he hissed, hitting her again. The leather cracked against her skin and Christine howled in pain. "Do I not please you, Christine? Do you long for a life in the shadows? In the _sewers?_ Perhaps I should've left you down there!" He hit her in the side of the head before dropping the belt and grabbing her by the hair, pulling her to her feet as she screamed.

"Raoul please! I'm sorry!" she begged, "I didn't mean to- I was asleep! Raoul, forgive me, please forgive me I love you!" His fist connected with the side of her face and she heard something pop as she fell sideways, landing awkwardly against the bed before falling to the floor again.

For a moment, as she gazed in fear up at her husband, she could see sadness in his eyes. He knew what he was doing was wrong. She could see that in him. But before it could win out over whatever part of him wanted him to hurt her, he lunged forward, grabbing her by the neck and squeezing tight. "Do you know what I've endured, marrying you? The scorn of my family, the lack of a child, and a loveless marriage! You lay with me and you lie to me! You'd rather have your precious angel, wouldn't you?"

Christine flailed and clawed at his arms, but he was too strong for her. "Please!" she choked, clawing at his hands. It wasn't long before her vision went white and she ceased her struggling.


	25. Chapter 25

Christine woke sitting upright, positively drenched in sweat and coughing so hard that it hurt. It was still dark, Raoul was still asleep, and it had all been a dream. It had felt so real- she could've sworn she felt his fists, felt the heat of his palms as he choked the life out of her…

She shivered, glancing back at her husband. He was only now beginning to stir. Her coughing was finally breaking through his unconsciousness. "Christine?" he asked, his voice soft and tinted with worry. He sat up next to her, rubbing her back. "Christine, what's the matter? What's happened?"

Christine flinched at his touch. Things had been lovely the past few days in spite of everything, but she could still remember how quickly her husband had gone from kind to horribly cruel. She didn't want to be beaten again. Raoul pulled his hand away, not wanting to frighten her further. "I'll fetch you a glass of water," he said after a moment, and he slipped out of the bed. In the few minutes it took for him to get to the kitchen and back, she managed to stop coughing. When Raoul re-entered the room, he could just barely see her lying in the moonlight, facing away from the door.

"Christine?" he asked, but he received no reply outside of an over-acted snore. Raoul climbed into bed next to her. "I know you're still awake, love. Please drink some water. All that coughing sounded painful."

Christine shook her head, burying her face in her pillow. She knew that if she took the water, he'd want her to tell him what was wrong. She'd have to write it out and he wasn't prepared to lie to him. She also didn't want him to know what she had dreamed. She could still feel his hands on her throat, even though it couldn't have actually happened.

"Please?" Raoul pleaded, and finally she gave in. The water was cool and it felt wonderful on her throat. She handed the empty cup back to her husband, who turned to set it on the windowsill. By the time he turned back to her, she actually was asleep again.

Raoul pressed his lips against her forehead before snuggling down with her.

* * *

Josephine was about five minutes from yanking that lasso from Erik's belt and stringing him up with it. From the moment she first woke up that morning he pestered her about leaving for the theater. It wasn't so much that he wanted to go to the theater as he wanted the day to progress, but in any case his enthusiasm was less infectious than it was infuriating. He was positively convinced that he would have his Christine before the end of the day.

While she got ready for the day- taking far longer than she needed, just to watch him squirm- she couldn't help but watch him from the corner of her eye. The way he carried himself, even when he was pacing nervously as he did while she brushed her hair, was so much more confident than anything she'd seen out of him since they'd met in the catacombs.

When she was finally ready to go, she could barely even get the man's name out before he was there at her side with his bag in hand. "You do realize that you're not going to even have a chance at seeing her until this evening, right?" Josephine asked as they walked out of the house.

"You are both welcome back anytime," Marie called as she closed the door behind them. Erik was shocked to hear that from her, after how terribly impolite he'd been with everyone there. Josephine seemed to understand the confusion on his face.

"She's a strange woman. She treats her boarders like her children. Even if you had tried to murder her in her sleep she would probably welcome you back into her home. I wouldn't eat her food after an attempt like that though, probably a good idea to just take up a job and buy your own. She probably wouldn't poison you, but…"

"Good to know," Erik muttered, shooting her a strange look. It was still quite early in the morning when they set off, so the streets were still pretty devoid of life as they made their way to the theater. It wasn't a terribly long walk, but Josephine could see why the viscomte would prefer to take a carriage. It was just a long enough walk to wear a person out but not quite long enough to take a proper break midway.

As they turned down the street that the theater was on, Josephine glanced over at the Phantom. Even though she could only see his mask and a little bit of his chin, she could tell that he was running out of steam. She didn't think he was ever going to have the stamina he used to, but she would've thought he'd have been a bit stronger than this.

"Just a little further," she said, trying to encourage him. He nodded.

"I'm just not used to- it's so bright."

"We'll be there soon and you'll be able to find a nice dark broom cupboard to hide in," Josephine teased. Erik rolled his eyes but he chuckled. She was glad to see him smile again. He'd looked like he was in such pain. How did he expect to exact his revenge if he couldn't even walk a reasonably short distance?

* * *

When Raoul woke for the day, Christine wasn't there. Again. He shot up out of bed and tore through the house, fearing that she'd run off again.

But he found her in the dining room, reading a book while she ate some fruit and drank some tea. She looked up when he entered, smiling that sweet smile that had made him fall in love with her so many years ago. He let out a sigh of relief and he crossed the room to hug her, amazed when she hugged him back.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: So here we are, 26 chapters in and everything is starting to happen. This chapter was hella fun to write and I hope that you all enjoy reading it! Hoping to have chapter 27 out before I sleep tonight as I've got most of it written already. **

**As always, thank you so much for continuing to read my story, and thank you so much for reviewing! It absolutely boggles my mind that I've gotten so many positive reviews on this story! I love my readers so much.**

* * *

It wasn't that Josephine didn't expect Erik to just disappear once they were to the theater, but she figured he would at least let her give him his ticket for the performance that evening before doing so. It actually made her a little sad that he didn't stick around long enough for her to do that little thing. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she had actually been really excited to have someone to give one of her tickets to.

She sighed when she turned and found him gone, but there wasn't anything she could do about it now. She was certain that she'd end up running into him at some point before the performance, she just wished that there weren't nearly eight hours to kill in the meantime.

* * *

Erik took refuge in the first dark corner he spotted once they'd entered the theater. There was something so strangely nostalgic about being back in a theater, even one so small as this one. There was so much to explore, so many people to watch, so much to do that Erik hardly could decide what he wanted to do first. He had been all too eager to leave the house that morning and now despite the long walk he found himself full of energy. It was going to be a long day.

His exploration of the building didn't take nearly as long as he'd hoped, and he found himself spending long, boring hours perched high above the stage on a catwalk covered with so much dust that he was certain it had been installed with an inch of dust already coating it. For as new as the rest of the building seemed, that particular catwalk seemed ancient. It even had an old sound to it, squeaking with every slight movement he made.

Around noontime, he heard quiet footsteps approaching his hiding spot. He was relieved when he looked up and found that it was just Josephine, whose hair was already being worked on for the performance. "How did you find me?" he asked. She smirked, rolling her eyes.

"Just because you're up here in the dark doesn't mean I can't see your legs dangling up here. I glanced up while trying to warm up and could see you moping."

"I'm not moping," Erik whined, "I'm observing."

"Well quit observing for a little while. I've brought you some lunch and I thought you could use some company. Is… Is this really sturdy enough for you to be sitting on?" she asked as she took a tentative step out onto the dusty catwalk. Erik shrugged.

"I haven't fallen yet," he said.

Josephine giggled and handed him a lumpy sandwich wrapped in a white handkerchief along with a grimy piece of paper. Erik put the sandwich in his lap to inspect the paper, which he put right into his pocket when he realized what it was. "Thank you," he said. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "You know, I'm not used to actually having tickets to these things. I've always just sort of… taken my box."

"Well, I don't think the viscomte would let you just take a box here."

"No, I doubt he'd let me do much of anything if he knew I was here."

"He'd let you die, probably," Josephine said thoughtfully as she nibbled on her own sandwich. Erik shot her an amused look.

"As if he could take me," Erik said after a moment, rolling his eyes. Josephine just shook her head and giggled some more.

* * *

It took more patience than Raoul had ever thought himself capable of to convince Christine to leave the house with him that evening. He helped her dress, helped her put up her hair and paint her lips a deep red to match the trim of her dress.

He'd spent the entire day begging her to go out with him just this once, he already had the tickets, it was opening night, the perfect outing for the two of them. Christine spent the entire day ignoring his pleas, her nose stuck in a book, her heart speeding up every time she considered it. She couldn't help but think he only wanted to go to see the girl he was replacing her with.

She gave in because it was easier to just give him what he wanted than to continue to hold out and hope that he wouldn't fly into a horrible rage.

The carriage ride to the theater was spent in silence, but Raoul was used to it by now. His wife hadn't spoken a single word to him since the loss of their baby. He was beginning to suspect she may never speak another word again. But seeing her face light up as he helped her out of the carriage at the theater spoke more than any words ever could have. He offered her his arm, and she took it, holding onto him tight as though he might disappear if she allowed him even an inch of space.

* * *

Erik decided that it was time to come down from where he hid. If he wanted any sort of chance at seeing the Viscomte de Chagny or his wife, should they attend, he knew he should be down in the lobby. The idea of being in a crowded lobby made his skin crawl, but it was something he would gladly endure for all the rest of his life if it meant that he could catch even a glimpse of his darling Christine.

As he made his way back up to the lobby, he heard a voice that he recognized immediately and he stopped, straining his ears to listen. It was the viscomte. He was there. Erik's eyes widened as he hurried down into the lobby, stopping just at the bottom of the stairs to the balcony and private boxes, scanning the crowd for the source of that voice.

He was not pleased to find that the viscomte was still a foppish youth with a full head of hair. He'd really hoped that the man would meet with some horrible accident that would rob him of at least _some_ of his looks.

But he forgot all about the viscomte when he saw the beauty hanging from his arm. Erik had to will his heart to keep beating when his eyes met with Christine's face. Unlike her husband, her face had a few new lines and there were a few noticeable patches of grey in her hair, but in Erik's mind she still was more beautiful than Aphrodite, more beautiful than even the sweetest melody to ever touch his ears.

He wanted so badly to cross the room and envelope her in his arms, to spirit her away from the theater so they could start a new life together, but he restrained himself. Instead, he decided to find out if he could still throw his voice as well as he once had been able to.

Erik cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Madame de Chagny, you look radiant tonight," a whisper, such a familiar whisper, soft as velvet on her ear. Christine turned her head to look, but there was no one there. The voice had been so familiar, a voice she'd heard nearly daily during a time that seemed so long ago…

She shook her head and turned back to Raoul, who was deep in conversation with a man who reminded her an awful lot of Ubaldo Piangi. She tugged on his arm and hoped that she looked pitiful enough that he'd just bring her to their seats. She'd feel better once she was sitting down. She felt awful as it was, like she would faint. Her knees were weak, and she hoped Raoul realized how much she was relying on him to stay upright.

Raoul led her to their seats, they were in the center box with a clear view of the stage. Christine was grateful that she would be able to sit through the performance. The voice had unnerved her.

"I do hope we will get to hear you sing one day, Christine." There it was again, the whisper. Christine jumped about three feet out of her chair and clung to Raoul's shirt sleeve. He looked down at her startled, his eyes full of worry. He didn't hear it, whatever she was hearing. That was the most unnerving part of it all.


	27. Chapter 27

Josephine was nervous as she peeked out at the crowd from her hiding spot in the wings. Sure, she'd practiced countless times and even performed as the lead in front of a few small crowds, but this was completely different. They were opening to a packed house. As the curtain opened, she caught a glimpse of Erik, his mask reflecting some of the light from the stage. Just knowing that he was still there, still in the crowd, relaxed her immensely.

She couldn't see the viscomte or his wife from where she stood, trembling in her pointe shoes, but she knew that they were there. In just a few more moments, all eyes were going to be on her. As the music swelled and she heard her cue to take her position to go on stage, she took a deep, shaky breath.

* * *

Erik was torn. The music was lovely and it called to him. He wanted to pay attention to the story unraveling on the stage in front of him, but if he just glanced slightly to his right, he could see Christine, still clinging to her husband's arm. He noticed now how damaged she looked. When she wasn't standing, wasn't putting on a brave front for anyone looking, Erik wondered if she realized how small and terrified she looked.

Josephine's voice, when those first few notes hit his ears, made chills run down the Phantom's spine. All the little hairs on his arms stood tall, and he had to physically shake himself to clear away the feeling.

Watching her on stage reminded Erik of watching Christine on stage. Her voice was deeper than Christine's, sure, but that was where the differences ceased.

When next Erik stole a glance at the box that the viscomte and Christine were sitting in, he could see the shine of tears on Christine's face. Erik couldn't help but wonder if she knew about Josephine's sordid involvement with Raoul.

* * *

She knew precisely who was the object of her husband's desires. As the curtain rose and the overture gave way to the first song, a tiny girl- just a little slip of a thing, really- pranced out to center stage. Christine couldn't help but notice how much the girl looked like her. It was like looking into a mirror that had been dropped in the fountain of youth.

It hurt more now that she could see the girl who had entranced her husband. He obviously longed for youth, and unfortunately for Christine he'd already robbed her of hers.

She tried to stay interested in what was going on down on the stage, but by the first intermission she was beginning to nod off. When Raoul shook her shoulder gently to catch her attention, she let out a squeal of surprise and shot up out of her chair before relaxing when she saw Raoul sitting there beside her.

"You're bored," he said. He wasn't asking a question. Christine sighed and looked at the floor, but Raoul cupped his hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him before kissing her nose and then her lips. "It's all right. I understand. If you'd like we can go home, I just need to have a quick word with someone first."

_Your lover?_ Christine thought dryly, though she was thrilled that he had offered for them to go home. Their bed would be infinitely more comfortable to doze off in than the gilded chair she sat in was. Raoul stood and helped her up, and the couple quickly exited the box.

* * *

Erik was watching them closely and only stood when he saw them leave their box, intending to finally make himself known to Christine at the very least. He couldn't still his shaking hands, couldn't slow his heart which seemed determined to beat right out of his chest.

He hurried through the crowd, being careful not to knock anybody over as he went. Thankfully, the lobby wasn't as crowded as it could've been. He stopped just short of the foot of the stairs and glanced up to make sure he hadn't missed them. Sure enough, they were just beginning to descend. He quickly averted his gaze and walked a few paces away, making sure to face them but not look as eager to engage them as he really was. He needed her to initiate contact. He needed her to remember him.

* * *

It was him. She was certain of it, she'd never witnessed another wearing that same mask. The color ran from Christine's face and she put her hand to her mouth to stifle the scream that was threatening her lungs. He didn't seem to have noticed her, and for that she was thankful. She turned back to Raoul and clung to his arm, thankful that he hadn't noticed the Phantom, who stood just on the other side of the room.

She didn't want to, but she glanced back at where she'd seen him, and was met with a piercing stare that made her blood run cold. She felt as though she might faint. Her knees went weak and her breath caught in her throat. Try as she might, she couldn't look away, even as he began stalking over to her.

"No," Raoul said, "It can't be, you're dead, you're-"

"Quite alive, Monsieur le Viscomte."

Christine stared, shocked, at the man who now stood within an arm's reach of her, the man she hadn't thought she would ever see again. His mask was scratched and dirty, his clothing obviously too large, his face gaunt, but it was her angel of music. She felt that she might cry for joy. Almost as quickly as that joy had touched her heart, Raoul had his arm around her waist and was pulling her away.

"Come Christine, we must be leaving," he said. Christine shook her head and struggled as he led her along.

"Unhand her, monsieur," Erik hissed. By now everyone in the foyer was aware of the three of them, and they looked on with great interest. Christine pulled away from Raoul and turned to look back at her angel, who looked to be having a difficult time controlling his temper.

"Angel," Christine breathed. It was the first word she'd spoken in nearly a week. The two men both reacted quite differently upon hearing it. Erik's heart soared, and he took a step forward, offering a shaky hand to her. Raoul growled and grabbed Christine roughly by the wrist, pulling her back and away from her angel. She cried out and fought, but Raoul only held tighter the more she struggled.

"Come _along_, Christine. We must be getting home, it is late and there are foul creatures about."

"Please let me go!" Christine cried, pulling against his grip with all her might.

They were almost to the door when Raoul yanked her forward, causing her to lose her balance and topple against him. Her ankle twisted as she fell and Christine cried out in was when Erik lost the tenuous hold he'd had on his temper. Within seconds, he was in front of Raoul, blocking his path and preventing him from dragging Christine any further. Raoul turned to find another exit, and it was then that Erik drew his lasso with a flourish.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!" Erik cackled maniacally as he tightened the rope around the viscomte's neck. It was just the distraction needed for him to finally let go of Christine, who stared up in horror as Erik strangled her husband. At once she was transported to that fateful night at the opera house.

"No!" she shrieked, "Please stop it! Don't hurt him! Please don't hurt him!" And, much to her- and Erik's- surprise, he did as she asked and loosed the man. The viscomte staggered forward and collapsed not far from Christine, sputtering and coughing as he fought to catch his breath.

Erik stared down at Christine, unable to believe that she would still defend him after all he'd done. "Christine," he murmured before kneeling beside her. "I have waited long months to gaze upon your face once more. Hidden in the darkness and near death, the only thing that kept me alive was the thought of you. When I heard that your husband was not treating you with the respect you deserve, I had to come for you, to help you." _To save you, and save myself as well_, he added silently.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: I would like to thank you for your continuing patience as my updating slows down just a bit more. I'm not stopping this story by any means, just slowing down a bit. I've been working on another project (non-fanfiction) and it's... really work intensive. And unlike this, it's got a deadline. So this story will probably be relatively slow to update (1-2 updates a week) until the end of June.**

* * *

"You should've just stayed dead!" cried the viscomte as he finally managed to find his voice. Erik ignored him, his eyes set on Christine, who stared back at him in wide-eyed shocked.

"I thought- I mean, the mob- I-" Christine's voice caught in her throat and she couldn't make sense of her thoughts. After all this time here he was, her angel of music, alive and well. She reached a trembling hand out and touched the side of his face that she could see, and Erik melted at her touch. "Oh my angel," she breathed.

She crawled closer to him and flung her arms around his bony shoulders, hugging him tighter than Erik had ever been hugged. He hesitated, but slowly wrapped his arms around her waist. "Oh Christine," he murmured into her hair. He could've sat there forever with her and he would've been happy.

But even a few moments would be too much to ask for him, as the viscomte stood and ripped his wife from the Phantom's arms.

"No!" both Erik and Christine cried in unison as they were torn from each other.

"Don't think you can come back and claim her now, you foul monster," Raoul snarled as he pulled Christine toward the door. "Christine is _mine_. She's my wife. You have no claim on her!"

"Let me go!" Christine begged, "I am not your property, I am my own person!"

"Allow _her_ to decide her own fate, monsieur," Erik said, trying to keep his voice even as he stood to face the other man.

"Raoul, let me go, please let me go!" Christine begged, fighting against him as he pulled her out the door. Her protestations were met with a swift smack across the face from her husband.

This act brought an enraged snarl from Erik's throat. "Let her go, de Chagny, and I might let you escape with your life."

"Come now, Christine," Raoul hissed as he dragged her along. "We can come and see the rest of the play another night."

"Raoul please," Christine begged, "Let me go, please just let me go."

"You heard her, monsieur. You would do well to give her what she wants," Erik added. He thought of the knife that Josephine had tucked into his pocket as he'd given her a hug for luck. If the viscomte didn't relent, he was prepared to force his hand. For a long moment, the three of them stared at each other. Christine stared at Raoul, Raoul stared at Erik, and Erik stared right back, matching his gaze.

Finally, Raoul let out a pained grunt and threw Christine at Erik, where she fell near his feet. "Take her, then. If she is so important to you- _take her!_" He hollered. Christine landed with a hard crack as her elbows made contact with the floor at his feet. Erik knelt beside her, fear in his eyes.

"Christine, Christine!" he said, the worry audible in his voice as he helped her up. Aside from being visibly shaken and a large bruise on her forearm, she seemed no worse for wear. Shaking, she wrapped her arms around Erik's neck and he pulled her to her feet. She cried out as she tried to put weight on the ankle that the viscomte had injured pulling her around. Erik tightened his grip on her, steadying her. He looked back at the viscomte, a vicious sneer on the man's face.

By now a nice little crowd had formed, and Erik had to assume that the police had been called for. They would have to go. "Christine," he cooed, "I know you are in pain, but if I help you, do you think you can walk?" Christine tried to take a step and winced, but she nodded.

They hurried out the door, pushing past the viscomte as they did. As they started down the stairs to the street, Erik felt something strike him in the middle of the back. In one fell motion, Christine was ripped from his side and he toppled to the ground, landing in a heap on the street. Behind them, Erik could hear the viscomte laughing. "You honestly thought I would just let you leave with my wife?" he asked. His words were hardly audible through his laughter.

"One way or another, _viscomte_," Erik spat the title like it left a foul taste in his mouth. "One way or another, you will be leaving on your own."

"That almost sounded like a threat," Raoul said, feigning shock, "Coming from such a foul beast as you, so thin and frail, it's laughable."

_That's right,_ Erik thought as he decided on his next action, _keep underestimating Erik. It has done you such wonders in the past, monsieur le viscomte. _It was only as he pulled himself back to his feet that he noticed just where poor Christine was. It was positively obscene the way he was holding her.

He had her on her knees, holding her by the hair, her face pressed firmly against his crotch.

"You treat her like she doesn't matter at all to you," he said, fighting a losing battle against the rage building inside, "yet less than a year ago you were willing to give your life to protect her. You don't understand her true worth at all, and I'm starting to suspect that you don't know what love even is." He slowly raised his foot onto the bottom step. The fall had injured his knee, and every slight movement made the bone feel like it was on fire. Just holding his weight up on it caused searing pain to shoot up his leg.

"Not another step, Angel," Raoul used the moniker tauntingly, a strange passionate fire glinting in his eyes. Erik pulled himself up, very nearly collapsing as his knee threatened to give away underneath him, and managed to get to the second step. That was when he heard Christine beginning to whimper.

He looked down and found that the viscomte's other hand held a short knife, and that knife was dangerously close to Christine's throat.

Time seemed to stop as Erik tried to figure out a way he could save her.


	29. Chapter 29

"Now, viscomte, don't do anything rash," Erik said, trying to keep his voice- and his head- level. Visions of bad endings danced in his head, and he fought to keep his wits about him against the torrent of thoughts that terrified him so. He'd come so close, he'd waited _so_ _long_… He couldn't lose her now, not to this crazed nobleman.

"You've no claim on her, wretch. You can stay back, or you can be the cause of her death."

"You're the one with the knife to her throat, viscomte, not I."

"Raoul, please-"

"I have heard just about enough out of you!" the viscomte shouted at the woman kneeling before him, and he jerked the knife up, slashing her across the face. Christine screamed in pain and brought her hands up to defend herself as the viscomte brought the knife down at her face once more. Instead of meeting her cheek as he intended, the knife sliced into the palm of her hand. Erik rushed forward, and found the knife turned on him.

"Not another step, foul beast," Raoul hissed, and he yanked Christine to her feet by the fistful of hair he held. She screamed and sobbed, pleading incoherently with him to just let her go. He brought the knife close to her face again, and she put up her hands to try and save herself, but Raoul growled and hit her with his fist, yanking her head back as he did so. "Open your mouth, Christine."

She shook her head. She knew what he was going to do. In a moment of terrifying clarity, she understood precisely how mentally disturbed her husband had become. She stared up at his face with pleading eyes. "Open your mouth, Christine, or I pick another place to put it," Raoul hissed.

Christine was shaking as she opened her mouth. Raoul pressed the cheek of the blade against her tongue, the edge rested in the corner of her mouth. "Good girl," he said, "now close your mouth."

"No," Erik breathed, "viscomte, do not harm her further."

"She wants to be with a hideous creature such as yourself, monsieur, she ought to be one herself," Raoul said as he glared down at the Phantom, then he turned his attention back to Christine, who was crying too hard to close her mouth. "I'm not going to tell you again, Christine. Close your mouth."

Christine whimpered as her lips closed around the blade. For one horrible moment, they all were still and quiet, save for the stifled sobs coming from Christine. And then that moment passed.


	30. Chapter 30

The viscomte let out an enraged roar as he sliced through Christine's cheek, and released her, allowing her to collapse to the ground screaming and clutching her face. "Take her then, monsieur le phantom. I am finished with her."

Erik reached out for Christine, keeping a wary eye on the viscomte and the knife, which was now dangling from his fingertips, dripping with blood. "Christine," he whispered. Raoul kicked her hard in the rear and she squealed as she slid toward Erik, who helped her up. Once she was propped against his chest, her face bleeding into his shirt, Erik backed down the stairs slowly, pausing for a moment as they stepped out into the street.

"Well go on! You're perfect for each other now!" Raoul said with a maniacal laugh. "Go!"

"Erik!" a girl's voice called his attention back to the door as he turned to leave with Christine. Josephine came running out, half-dressed for the next act, her face smeared with makeup and streaked with tears. How much had she seen? Erik hoped enough to disenchant her with her beloved viscomte.

She brought him his bag and slung it over his shoulder for him before craning upward and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know he would react this way," she whispered. As she turned to run back into the theater, she was met with the angry, unbelieving stare of the viscomte de Chagny.

"You. You were with him this entire time?" he demanded. Josephine stared back at him.

"I've been helping him, yes. He is no monster, monsieur. From what I have seen this evening, the only monster here is _you_," Josephine replied. Erik was pleased when he heard that her voice was strong. She stood there between the two men, staring the viscomte down as he leisurely strolled down the steps to where they stood.

"You foul little viper," Raoul hissed as he stepped up to where Josephine stood, her arms outstretched, taking up as much space between the viscomte and the phantom as she could. "How could you betray me so?"

"I did it out of compassion, something you clearly lack," she replied coldly, glaring up at him. She motioned for Erik to go, to get Christine out of there. But as he turned to comply, the viscomte gripped the knife tightly and slashed it across the small soprano's throat. As she fell, her final few heartbeats sent blood spraying in powerful spurt across the viscomte's clothing. For a moment, terror filled his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the cold hatred that had been there moments before.

Christine screamed when she saw the girl collapse to the ground, blood pooling around her as she gasped and clutched at her throat. Erik let out a cry of anguish as he watched the girl's life leave her, and when he saw that the viscomte's next target was himself and Christine, he turned and pulled her along, moving as quickly as his knee would allow.

Their only saving grace was the police, the first of whom arrived as they hurried away. The viscomte, covered in blood and brandishing a knife, was the focus of their attention, allowing Erik and Christine to slip away nearly undetected.

Despite wanting to stop and comfort Christine, despite the fact that they both had injuries that needed tending, Erik knew they couldn't stop. He wouldn't be found again. He _couldn't_ be found again. And he wouldn't let the viscomte get his hands on her again, not while he still drew breath.

They were very nearly out of the city when the pain shooting up Erik's leg became a constant white-hot burning that grew worse with every step. He had to stop.

"Angel?" Christine asked, barely moving her head from where it rested against his shoulder as he guided them down a dark alleyway. At least, he was pretty sure that was what she said. He couldn't understand how she managed to continue moving her mouth without crying out in pain.

"I must rest," he said as he leaned against the wall, thankful for the support. He was certain that if he kept moving, he would topple over and injure them both further. Slowly, they both sank to the ground and Erik dropped the bag at his side. He didn't allow himself to show any pain, he knew that the pain he felt paled in comparison to what his poor Christine was feeling. Just getting to finally sit felt far better. The pain in his knee had almost immediately dulled to a far more tolerable throbbing ache.

"Christine, oh Christine I am so sorry. It's all my fault," he whimpered after a moment, "If I hadn't come back-"

"I would be dead," Christine whispered. Her words were slurred and tinged with pain he knew had to be excruciating, but he knew those were the words she spoke. He looked down at her in horror, shaking his head slowly. "He would have killed me eventually," she said, cringing in pain as she continued to speak. Erik shook his head furiously, refusing to believe it.

He clung to her tightly, resting his face against her hair. He couldn't imagine a world in which Christine no longer existed.


	31. Chapter 31

He realized as he clung to his angel that there was a chance that his dear, deceased friend Josephine had left him something that would be of use to them in his bag. He turned to dig through it, and nearly cried out for joy when he found that she had indeed given him a spool of thread and a few needles. He hated to have to do such a thing to Christine's face, but he knew that her wound needed to be stitched up. She was cut nearly to the bone; he could see all of her teeth through her cheek.

"Christine," he whispered, "we need to tend to your cheek. I can stitch it up for you, but it's going to hurt. I will understand if you hate me once it's done, but I am begging you, allow me to help you."

She nodded slowly, and sat up straight, pulling herself away from him. Even in the darkness, Erik could see how horrible the wound was. He couldn't believe that anyone would be so callous as to harm her this way. "Oh Christine," he sighed, "My poor Christine."

He carefully unwound a length of thread and prepared his needle. "Christine, this is going to hurt quite a lot, but I really must ask you to try to keep still. I don't want to cause you unnecessary pain."

"I understand," she croaked. Erik took a deep breath to steady himself before he leaned forward and placed his hand on her cheek, carefully piecing her cheek back together. His hand shook as he lifted the needle, but he managed to push it through her cheek without any issue, but Christine whimpered and he hesitated, but continued.

She was shaking and hot tears were streaming from her eyes by the time he was half done. Erik wanted nothing more than to stop and comfort her, but he knew that he needed to finish first. As he tied off the end of the thread, making sure that the stitches were tight enough that they would hold as she healed before he pulled his hands away, looking away from her.

Christine slowly brought a shaking hand to her cheek, running her fingertips over the stitches. She was mildly surprised at how even the felt. She cautiously opened her mouth and found that, even though it still was horribly painful, it wasn't the blinding pain that trying to talk had been before.

She turned to look at Erik and found him crying into his hands. "Thank you," she murmured. He froze. "For everything you've done for me."

"How can you thank wretched Erik? He's the reason you're hurt, he's caused you pain."

She stared at him, taken aback by his outburst in the third person. It hadn't occurred to her that she didn't know his name. _What a fool I have been_, she thought, _of course he has a name, why would he just be called Angel?_ "Erik?" she asked cautiously. The man flinched when he heard his name spoken in her beautiful voice.

"Yes?" he answered. Christine reached out and touched his face.

"No one who is willing to help another is wretched. You are kind, and good, and-"

"And a murderer, Christine," Erik replied, pulling away from her, "I nearly got you killed."

"That wasn't your fault, that was Raoul," she protested, wincing as her flesh pulled against the thread. "You came back to save me. You came back for me, didn't you?" Erik nodded, and Christine crawled closer to him, snuggling right up next to him. He stared at her in awe as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

The pair slept there in the alley, propped against that wall, Erik's bag of clothing and basic necessities snuggled between them to help protect from those who might try to steal from them.

* * *

Morning came, and with it birds singing at full volume and a sunrise that was positively breathtaking. They both ached from head to toe from their injuries and sleeping on the ground, but they knew they had to get up and keep moving. Erik stood first, then helped Christine up. She was tentatively excited for the fact that, although her ankle was swollen and purple, it could stand to hold her weight. They were also both pleased to discover that her face had stopped bleeding.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," Christine said as Erik inspected the damage in the light of day. He shook his head.

"Not to worry. I've a spare and I'll change once we've reached our destination. That is, unless you'd prefer not to be seen with me in this state?" Erik replied. Christine shook her head.

"I don't look much better," she replied, gesturing to the ruined gown she wore. Erik shook his head.

"You look beautiful," he corrected her. She shook her head and made an effort to hide the side of her face that Raoul had damaged. Erik could feel his heart breaking as she did so. "Christine," he whispered, but she shook her head even harder.

"Please, I know you're just trying to cheer me up, it's all right. I'll get used to it."

Erik sighed as he picked up his bag. "We should get going," he said, "It's a long walk to where we're going, and it's going to be made longer by the fact that neither of us is particularly good at walking right now."


	32. Chapter 32

It was after sunset when they finally came to the tiny house in the shadow of a hill. From the top of the hill, they could see the lights of Paris, but they could no longer see the city limits. They had spent the day in relatively good spirits, talking and joking with each other, but when Erik stole careful glances at Christine's face, he could see that she was unhappy and in pain. He wished there was something he could do for her, but the most he could offer was a home that _should _still be nicely furnished. They had enough food in his bag to last them a few days, and when he felt stronger he could venture out and get them more.

Walking into the tiny house, the first thing they noticed was the thick layer of dust that covered everything. Erik was pleased to find that, aside from the dust, there didn't seem to be anything different from the last time he'd been to this place, nearly a year and a half ago at that point.

"We should be safe here," he said as he closed the door behind them. He walked around and lit a few of the oil lamps that were scattered sparsely across the main level of the house while Christine looked around.

Erik was pleased to find that, aside from a broken window in the kitchen, the house seemed to have remained untouched in the months since he'd last been there. He would find a board to put over the window in the morning. As he turned to once again face Christine, he found her staring wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the fireplace.

"Christine," he said, keeping his voice calm and soothing, "perhaps it would be best-"She held her hand up to silence him, and he obliged her. Slowly, she walked closer to the fireplace, never once taking her eyes off her reflection in the dingy glass of the mirror hanging there. Erik knew the look in her eyes. He'd seen it in his own eyes on occasion, when he'd felt particularly upset with the reflection he saw in the mirror.

"I… In my mind, it wasn't so bad as it is," she whispered as she looked at the long, jagged cut held together by black thread in stitches so tiny and neat she wouldn't have believed they were done in the dark by a man whose hands shook if he even so much as occupied the same room as her.

"It's really not so bad as it looks," Erik replied. Christine shot him a look, her eyes full of anger and sadness.

"It's going to leave a huge, horrible scar. I won't be able to go out in public again, people will point and laugh at my disfigurement," she snapped. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth as she said the last sentence and her eyes widened as she realized to whom she was speaking. "I didn't- Oh, gosh, Erik I didn't mean it that way-"

Erik's eyes flashed with emotion, and Christine feared that he would yell at her. She couldn't read his emotions at all. As he slowly crossed the room to where she stood, Christine's eyes filled with fear and she shrank back. The moment that Erik saw fear in her eyes, he backed off, turning away.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. Erik shook his head.

"If you would like, I could make you a mask," he said.

"What?"

"If you fear going out in public, I could make you a mask," he repeated, glancing over at her with sad eyes, "I mean, personally I'd rather see your face than a mask, but if it would make you more comfortable…" It was only then that Christine noticed the tears glistening on his unmasked cheek. "Oh Christine," he continued, "Forgive me, I never wanted something like this to happen to you. It's all my fault."

"No, no don't say that."

"Christine," he made eye contact with her, his eyes horrible and pleading, filled with sorrow and remorse, "If I hadn't tried to find you, if I hadn't gone to the theater-"

"Hush, now," she replied a little more harshly than she meant to, closing the distance between them. She reached for his hands, and he eagerly allowed his fingers to intertwine with hers. "Erik, if anyone should be apologizing, it's me."

"No, no," Erik protested, but Christine nodded, and waited for him to meet her eyes before she continued speaking.

"Erik, I was the one who left you. I willingly married the viscomte. I did this to myself-"

"But I sent you away," he said, "I practically handed you to him." Christine's eyes flashed with anger.

"I am not property to be handed about," she said coldly, "And I resent that both you and Raoul seem to think that I am."

"I'm- I didn't mean it that way," Erik said softly, looking down. Christine leaned forward, and despite the pain it caused her, she pressed her lips against her angel's forehead. She couldn't fight the painful smile that took her face when she felt how rigid he went at the show of affection.

"You only wanted me to be happy," she said after a moment. He nodded.

"I sent you away because I loved you, Christine," he whimpered, "had I known-"

Christine brought one of her hands up, placing her finger against his lips to quiet him. As his eyes met hers, she pulled him closer to her, drawing his lips to hers. To her, the pain was worth it for the reaction he gave, freezing up at first and then melting against her.

When she finally pulled away, her face was almost as wet as his was with his tears. She smiled as best she could when he opened his eyes to look at her, running her fingertips down along the exposed half of his face. He shivered at the touch.


	33. Chapter 33

Erik gladly gave Christine the one bed in the house, opting instead to curl up on the small sofa in the front room. With all but two lamps extinguished, the tiny house was nearly as dark as he preferred, but he knew he would still have a difficult time trying to sleep. He waited until he was certain that Christine would be upstairs for the night before he finally peeled his mask from his face. Stealing a cautious glance at the staircase, he carefully removed his wig as well, placing both mask and wig neatly on the end table near where he chose to lay his head.

* * *

Upstairs, Christine was relieved to finally loosen the corset she'd been wearing since she'd gone to the theater with her husband the night before. It felt like ages ago already even with the evidence plain to see on her face.

She looked through the chest of drawers at the end of the plain little bed and found a yellowed old shirt that looked like it would fit her well enough, and she peeled off her gown, slipping out of her corset as well before shrugging on the shirt. It hung loosely on her slight figure, falling just below her bum.

Coupled with her bloomers, she was satisfied that she was still covered enough so as not to be too embarrassed if her angel came upstairs for any reason.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through her hair, wishing that she had a proper brush to use, but it didn't seem that Erik had kept one there. The black stitches around the swollen red line on her cheek kept catching her eye in the mirror, and in her frustration she threw her hair over her right shoulder, pulling as much of it down in front of her face as she could stand.

Staring at herself in the mirror for a moment longer, Christine sighed. She hadn't allowed herself to cry over what had happened yet. Now that she was alone with her thoughts, she couldn't summon the tears. Pushing her hair back again, she carefully traced the jagged line Raoul had left, the permanent reminder of his 'love,' with her fingertips.

_All I am is property to him_, she thought. Tears welled in her eyes, _that's all I am to either of them. It's all I'm good for, can't even bear a child. _Glancing back at her reflection in the mirror, she stifled the wail building in her throat. _What man would even want to try now?_

She curled up on top of the blankets, which were plush and velvet-soft, and let silent tears fall, fighting each whimper and sob that threatened until she eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Erik woke with a start when the first rays of sunshine started streaming through the windows. He yawned and stretched, blinking hard as his eyes adjusted from the darkness behind his eyelids. It was only as he sat up that he remembered that he'd taken off his mask and wig, and he turned and looked wildly around to be certain that Christine wasn't up yet.

A tiny snore drifted down the stairs and Erik breathed a small sigh of relief as he stood up, relishing a few extra moments of air against his skin. He hadn't particularly wanted to, but he found himself looking at his face in the mirror. Fresh blisters were visible on his forehead and cheek, where the mask rubbed against his skin. Gingerly, he prodded one with his forefinger and it burst painfully, oozing thick, yellowish pus that dribbled down his cheek.

He cringed, the skin around the edges of the blister tightening almost immediately. If it weren't for Christine, he wouldn't wear the mask. He wanted to give the skin time to heal, to rest… but he also didn't want to force her to look upon him without the mask.

He stared at his reflection for a moment longer before turning to grab his wig and mask. The cool material of the mask made the broken blister on his cheek sting unmercifully. He waited, hoping that it would cease, but as time went on it seemed to get worse, not better.

* * *

Christine woke to the sound of birds and Erik singing, one sound coming from outside and one from downstairs. She blinked hard as she tried to recall where she was. At first, she felt lost, but slowly her memory filled in the gaps made by sleep. She was safely away from Raoul de Chagny, something she'd been hoping for since that first time he'd come home just a bit too drunk and forced himself on her.

She sat up, smiling until the pain in her cheek- and her reflection in the mirror opposite the bed- reminded her of the cost of her freedom.


	34. Chapter 34

Christine sat at the end of the bed, listening to Erik as he sang. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would hear his voice again. She listened with her eyes closed, and for a few blissful moments she was back in the opera house, sitting in her dressing room listening to her angel.

One song melted into another, and Christine recognized the new song he sang. Their duet from his opera! She listened more closely upon realizing this, and found that there was something terribly sad about the way he sang it. When he came to her part, he stopped abruptly. At first, she thought perhaps he was waiting for her to join in, but then she heard him continue much more quietly. After listening to him finish that song, she stood up, stretching her arms over her head and avoiding looking at herself in the mirror.

As she glanced around the room yawning, she noticed a familiar bag laying on the chest of drawers at the end of the bed. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized that it was a bag she'd kept in a drawer back at home. How had it found its way to her here?

She brushed her fingertips along the bag's worn embellishments, tracing faded flowers and missing beadwork. Once upon another time, this bag had carried everything of importance to her. She could remember how jealous Meg had been of it. Oh, it felt like so long ago. She was worlds away from the opera now.

Christine opened the flap of the bag and found a note pinned just inside. With shaking hands, she removed the pin and unfolded the paper. She was relieved to find Erik's childish-yet-elegant scrawl.

"Forgive me Christine, but this is the best I could do in the early morning hours. Erik." She read the note twice before she leaned in to inspect what the bag held.

A simple blue dress and some fresh underclothes were jammed into a bag that she'd never held more than a pair of shoes and some books in before. Christine could've cried from happiness. It was such a small thing, but to her it meant more than even the most grandiose plans Raoul had ever laid to surprise her.

At the bottom of the bag, upon closer inspection, Christine found a hairbrush. Upon making this discovery, Christine began to weep openly.

* * *

Downstairs, Erik was busy playing house. He'd spent the majority of the morning dusting and sweeping before rediscovering a stash of emergency funds he'd been keeping behind one of the bricks of the fireplace. He'd then changed into fresh clothing and checked on Christine before stealing away into the early morning twilight. He knew of a farmer nearby who would gladly sell him what they would need.

He'd come back with fresh clothing for Christine and food to last them through supper. Beyond that, their lives were in flux. He didn't want to rush her, but there was definitely good cause for them to put as much distance between themselves and the Viscomte de Chagny as possible. He hoped that the foolish police would actually do some good for once and detain him, but Erik was all too familiar with how the law could work. If you were well off, you would be well off in all areas of life.

As he began to hum a tune he hadn't heard since he was a young boy, he heard hesitant footsteps making their way down the stairs. So Christine _was_ awake. He thought he'd heard her, but he couldn't be too sure. This old house creaked far more than he ever remembered. Soon, he was sure, it would begin to fall apart. It was old and had been abandoned for quite some time.

"I hope you've an appetite,Christine," he called over his shoulder as he flipped eggs with a flourish. He heard her stumble, and he turned to find that she'd caught herself against the back of the sofa. She was clearly trying to hide the pain that the misstep had caused her.

"I feel like I haven't eaten in days," she replied after a beat. The words were followed immediately by a peal of laughter that nearly made Erik cry for its beauty.

"Might I inquire what is so funny?" He asked as he served their simple breakfast of eggs and potatoes.

"Well look at you, wearing an _apron_," she managed to squeal between giggles, "You look so… domestic. It's so different from how I remembered you."

Erik raised his visible eyebrow as he turned and set their plates on the small dining table before helping Christine to her chair. He sank into his own chair with a slight sigh. Christine bowed her head and said a short prayer of thanks before she devoured the food that had been set before her. Erik ate much more slowly, watching her as she ate. It wasn't the first meal they'd ever shared, but it was definitely the most eye-opening.

She'd changed more than he could possibly have imagined in the months since they'd last seen each other. The guilty way she held herself after she finished her meal and saw that he'd only taken a few bites was telling enough. Erik wished he knew what other atrocities the viscomte had committed during their short marriage, but deep down he was glad that he had, so far, been spared such details. Any further information would certainly cause him to seek out vengeance.

"I'm sorry," Christine said after a few moments, "Where are my manners?"

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Christine," Erik insisted. He watched her until she met his gaze and could see the honesty in his eyes.

* * *

They stayed in the tiny house in the shadow of a hill for a month, relishing the time spent resting and learning about one another. Christine's cheek healed quite nicely, though it was still a harsh pink against her milky skin. Even though it was uncomfortable having the stitches removed, she was strangely happy when she could run her tongue over the bare scar tissue on the inside of her mouth.


	35. Chapter 35

Christine was far more skeptical of their plans than she let on. Erik insisted that his name still brought fear to the hearts of some in the south, and that was as good a reason to journey that direction as any. Were it up to Christine, they would be continuing north toward Belgium.

"I've got a lovely place in the country where no one will ever bother us," he assured her as they packed for their journey. Christine didn't know how, but Erik had managed to convince their farmer neighbor to part with one of his horses. He was also kind enough to give them some food for the road, and a nice bottle of wine. Erik helped Christine up onto the horse after he had loaded all he could into the saddlebags.

"You're not going to walk, are you?" she asked.

"We would do best not to overload the poor creature," he replied. Christine shook her head, seeing straight through his nonsense.

"That's not your reason. This is a strong horse and I don't weigh _that_ much," she said, "Neither do you. you're far too thin to be walking so far without reprieve. Do you think I'm going to cringe away from your touch?"

"It's not that," Erik said as he began to lead the horse along.

"Then what is it?"

"Christine, in your sleep you frighten me. You've driven me half to madness. I don't know what it is you dream of, but you cry and you lash out and you beg for your life." Her eyes widened she was told this. "You cringe away from any touch, you apologize for everything- I'm walking as a service to you. I know I'm not the one who has caused this fear in you, but I will not be the one to exacerbate it."

"You shouldn't have to suffer because of what Raoul did to me-"

"I suffer every day because of what he did to you, Christine," Erik said, stopping abruptly. The horse continued for a few paces before halting as well. "How do you think it sits on my heart to know that I've had you safely away from him for weeks now and yet still he plagues your dreams!"

"I'm sorry, Erik," she said after a moment, tears welling in her eyes. His heart sank, and he was quiet for a long moment, trying to control himself and choose his words. His instinct was to holler at her, but he knew that would do neither of them any good.

"Christine, I… I beg that you stop apologizing to me. Can you do that for me? Just don't apologize to me anymore."

"But Erik-" He hesitantly reached out and took her hand between both of his, and she went positively rigid. "I'm sorry," she wailed.

"Christine," he said, relishing the softness of her skin, "I don't care if you stab me through the heart, I don't want to hear you say the words 'I'm sorry' to me again. I understand if you slip up, but please understand that there is nothing you can do to me that will require an apology."

He punctuated his little speech by brushing his lips against the back of her hand. He felt her shiver at the contact, and he quickly pulled away. "Ride with me," Christine said as he walked ahead to lead the horse. He froze for a moment, considering his options, but finally he climbed up behind Christine, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist so he could hold the reins. She was warm and smelled like flowers and sunshine.

They rode for more than half a day before it began to snow. And once it began snowing, the temperature began dropping rapidly. Erik scanned the area for anywhere that they could take shelter, but found only a tree with some low-hanging branches. It was as good as anything they were going to find.

He guided the horse in the direction of the tree, and thinking quickly he took one of the blankets they'd packed and flung it over the lowest branch. The edges skirted the ground, and with a little help from some rocks he managed to secure it to block some of the wind and snow. He quickly unloaded the horse, helping Christine down into their tiny makeshift shelter.

Once unladen, Erik assumed the horse would leave them and find its own shelter, but instead it huddled near the tree, too, watching the masked man carefully as he fought the wind and snow and tried to build a fire. He knew that he and Christine wouldn't survive the night if he didn't get a fire going, but the snow had already soaked through most of what he could've used for kindling.

It was then that he remembered what he had jammed down into the bottom of one of their bags. He pulled the loose pages of music out with shaking, numb hands. Carefully, he twisted them and wove them into the sticks and branches that made his tiny fire. It took five tries to get a match to light, but the music lit readily, the flames devouring his work hungrily, as though pleased with his sacrifice. He broke off a couple of smaller, weaker branches that he could reach and tossed them in a pile near the edge of their makeshift tent, and then he climbed inside.

"Perhaps we should've stayed on a few more nights," he said with a sad sigh. Christine shifted, trying to give him more room.

"It was rather silly of us to leave without considering the weather," she agreed, shivering. Erik urged her closer to the fire, which was already serving to warm him slightly. Shivering uncontrollably, he pulled out everything in their bags that could work as a blanket, including a pair of dresses and a suit jacket. He draped them over Christine first, giving himself the thinner parts and the shorter ends. Christine burrowed into the blankets, resting her arm on his shoulder.

"Part of me really wants to tell you what happened between Raoul and I," Christine said after a long silence. "But I don't want you to have any more reason to kill him. I… I still love him, Erik. In spite of all he's done, all he's done _to me_…"

"Christine," Erik exclaimed.

"It's not like I want to be with him!" she said, her cheeks flushing bright pink on top of the blush that the cold air brought, "I know he's awful for me. I know he hurt me. I know he wants to kill you… and probably me… but I love him."

Erik didn't know how to take that news. Was that why she cried in the night? She was sad for how their relationship had turned out? He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I hate that I still love him. I hate that there's still that part in me, so deeply ingrained in me that it's almost like music." She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. She couldn't read his face. Between the mask and his innate ability to steel himself and hide away his emotions, he wasn't giving her even a glint in his eyes to go by. She looked away, tears welling in her eyes. "You were right all along. You tried to pull me away from him, you tried to show me-"

"Christine," Erik said finally, daring to press his fingertips to her lips to silence her, "Listen to me. Please. I tried to pull you away from him for my own selfish reasons. I was in love with you. I am still in love with you. I… I had hoped that I no longer had to compete with the viscomte for your affections."

"You don't," Christine cried, but he pressed his fingers a bit more firmly against her lips to keep her quiet.

"I _can't_ compete with him. He and I are the same. We have done horrible, awful things, Christine. But unlike him I will never hurt you. I can't promise you anything more than that. I can't even promise we'll make it through this storm," he continued, "but I'm glad that it's you and me. Even if we don't make it, I'm glad that we're together."


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: I'm sorry that my updates are getting fewer and farther between... Honestly I had a really hard time getting chapter 36 ready and I'm working really hard to get back on track. I should be updating This Angel In Hell next, probably two more chapters on that before another chapter here. I'm aiming for at least one chapter per week. Thank you so much for continuing to read and thank you for your patience. **

**And thank you, THANK YOU SO MUCH, for the reviews. If you could see the way I flail when I see that I've got a new review... It's sickeningly cute. I love you, my readers.**

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Sometime in the night, Christine fell asleep. Erik was acutely aware of her every movement. Shortly after she fell asleep, the snow finally ceased. Their fire, though it threatened to die a few times throughout the night, still burned in the morning when Christine woke, her head pressed firmly against Erik's chest as he absently played with her hair.

He froze when her breathing changed. Slowly, she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Their makeshift tent had taken quite the beating in the snowstorm, and now it hung pregnant with wet, heavy snow on either side of the couple. The first thing her brain registered was that she was no longer all that cold. Sure, she could hardly feel her toes, and she could see her breath in the air, but it wasn't as bitingly cold as it had been during the night.

"Erik?" she asked, concerned for the stiff, corpse-like man she held onto. The utterance of his name was all it took to relax him, if only a little.

"Yes, Christine?" he replied.

"I'm glad, too." Erik looked down at her, confused. "Last night, you said that you're glad that it's you and me together," she continued, "I… I don't know why that stayed in my head, but…" Her angel leaned forward and kissed her hair. It was a bold move, not something she was used to from him.

Too quickly, the tender moment ended, and the pair worked to free themselves from their blankets, the edges of which had begun to freeze to the ground. Had it not been for the tree, they would've been completely buried in snow. Christine marveled at how deep it was as she took a few cautious steps away from the fire. The horse was nowhere to be seen.

"Well," Erik said as he tore apart their campsite. Christine turned to look at him, expecting him to follow that up with something of use. He didn't say anything further.

Christine blinked back tears as she stood there, scanning the horizon for their horse. _I came so close to freedom,_ she thought bitterly, _a taste of this life with Erik was too sweet, of course I can't continue to exist in happiness._

"If I am correct in my assumption of where we are," Erik started, "There should be a town not too far from here. Perhaps we can find an innkeeper who will take pity on us."

"If we don't freeze before we get there," Christine murmured. Erik decided it would be best to pretend that he didn't hear that.

Most of what they had brought along with them was soaked straight through or torn, so they didn't have much to carry. The snow wasn't that deep, but it was deep enough to make walking difficult.

Erik took the majority of their baggage, slipping a single bag over Christine's head to rest across her chest before he fastened his cloak over her shoulders. She opened her mouth to protest, but he put one thin, icy finger against her lips.

"You are more precious to me than my own life," he said, "I will not selfishly use something that could better serve you."

"But you'll freeze to death!" Christine cried.

"I've survived worse than this," Erik said with a finality that stayed Christine's tongue. He turned, trying to decide where they should go. They kept the sun to their left until noon, when they finally could see a town in the distance. The sun was beginning to melt the snow, but it was also making travel more difficult as ice began to form in the shadows.

By the time they finally managed to reach the town, the sun had all but set and they both were painted with bruises in varying shades of blue and purple. They were quite relieved that the first building they reached was an inn, and they didn't seem too busy. Hope was high that there would be a vacancy.

Erik was nearly carrying Christine as they stumbled through the doors of the inn. Outside, the wind was harsh and cold. Inside, the air was warm and smelled of cheese and meat. Erik helped Christine down into a chair before he approached the desk at the back of the main room.

A squat, surly-looking woman came from one of the tables near a staircase to help him, stepping behind the desk just as Erik reached it. "Can I help you, monsieur?"

"My… companion and I were caught in the storm last night- we lost our horse and we've been walking all day. Please tell me you've a room we can sleep in for the night."

"Of course. You're in luck, we don't get many travelers this time of year for precisely the reason you've described. Now, about our rates-"

Erik dropped his purse on the desk, where it landed with a heavy _thud_. "Payment shall be no issue. I trust I can settle the bill when we leave in the morning?"

The woman stared at him in awe for a moment, then nodded, pulling out a book and pen. "I'll just need your names. If you've any weapons, I'll need you to leave them here at the desk. Dinner and breakfast are covered in your bill, dinner should be ready shortly and will be served in the main room, just through there." She pointed over behind where Christine sat, into a room where there were obviously a few drunk men sitting and enjoying themselves.

"Your room is the last one on the left, second floor. Thank you, monsieur…" the woman squinted as she tried to read Erik's handwriting. He'd purposely scrawled a near-illegible last name. It was one he'd used many times. "Sauvageau?"

Erik merely nodded as he turned to help Christine once more. It seemed to take them forever to ascend the stairs, but once they were on the second floor it only took them a few fumbling steps to reach their room, which they realized too late only held one bed. It wasn't a very large bed, either.

"What was that last name you gave at the desk?" Christine asked as Erik helped her to the bed, where she sat and immediately began shedding heavy wet layers of clothing.

"Sauvageau," Erik replied as he began taking things out of the bags they'd been carrying. There were important things in those bags, things they couldn't afford to let get wet and mold as they traveled.

"Why would you use a name that means savage?" Christine asked, wrinkling her nose at the idea.

"It would be better if you did not know the monster I have been, the monster I can be," Erik replied, nonchalant. There was no self-pity in his words. It was merely a statement.

"Erik-"

"I mean it, Christine," he hissed, shooting an icy glare over his shoulder. His cheeks burned as he realized that she was in her underclothes. He quickly turned his gaze back to the bags he was unpacking as he heard Christine shuffling through her own bag, trying to find something she could wear that would not offend but also was not sopping wet.


End file.
